PHILLIPS 
Camilla !s  Husband 


NO.  CCCXXVII. 

FRENCH'S      STANDARD     DRAMA. 

^lje    ^tihrg    <&  bit  ion. 


CAMILLA'S  HUSBASD. 


An  Original  Drama, 


IN  THREE  ACTS. 


BY  WATTS  PHILLIPS,  ESQ. 


TO   WHICH   ARE    ADDED 


A  description  of  the  Costume — Cast  of  the  Characters— Entrances  and  Exits- 
Relative  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and 
the  whole  of  the  Stage  Business. 


AS  NOW  PERFORMED  AT  THE   PRINCIPAL  ENGLISH 
AND   AMERICAN  THEATRES. 


NHW  YORK: 
SAMUEL  FRENCH,  PUBLISHER, 

122  Nassau  Stbeet,  (Up  Stairs.) 


[CAST  OF  CHARACTERS-CAMILLAS  HUSBAND.] 


Royal  Olympic, 
London,  1862. 


Olympic, 
New  York,  1863. 


Sir  James  Hailstone Mr. 

Sir  Philip  Hailstone,  [his  son]  .  .  Mr. 
Sir  Thomas  Kendal Mr. 


Major  Lumley. . . . 
Captain  Shrimplon . 

Dogbriar 

Maurice  Warner  \ 
Hyacinth  Jonquil  j 
Maybush,    [Landlord    of  the  j  Mr. 

:    Red  Lion] |  Mr. 

Chowler,  [a  Smith] Mr. 


Artists 


.Mr. 
.Mr. 
.Mr. 

Mr. 

Mr. 


James. 
G.  Vincent. 
Franks. 
H.  Cooper. 
H.  Rivers. 

F.  Robson. 
H.  Neville. 
W  Gordon. 
H  Wigan. 

G.  Cooke. 

C.  Harwood. 


Mr. 
Mr. 
Mr. 
Mr. 
Mr. 
Mr. 
Mr. 
I  Mr. 

[Mr. 

Mr. 


Peck. 

G.  Jamison. 

Brucciani. 

N.  C.  Lapaugh. 

G.  H  Clarke. 

W.  Davidge. 

J.  K.  M<rtimer 

Geo.  Becks. 

T.  Owens. 

C.  Parsloe,  Jr. 


Servants,  Gentlemen,  Villagers,  fyc. 

Lady  Camilla  Hailstone Miss  Kate  Saville.   Mrs.  John  Wood. 

Lady  Roseville Miss  Grant.  Miss  DeLacey. 

Miss  Placida  Poyntz Mrs.  Leigh  Murray.  Mrs.  Howard. 

Red  Judy,  [  Wife  of  Dogbriar]  Mrs.  Stephens.  Miss  Harris. 

Sloeberry,  [their  Daughter]  . .  .Miss  F.  Haydon.       Miss  J.  Walters. 


Time,  1762.— Costumes  of  that  period,  for  which  see  Brown's  Illustrations  to 
"  Barnaby  Budge." 


RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  EXITS,  &c. 

B.,  means  Right;  L.,Left;R.  H.,  Right  Hand,  L.  H.,  Left 
Hand  ;  C,  Centre  ;  S.  E.,  (or  2d  E.,)  Second  Entrance  ;  U.  E.,  Up- 
per Entrance  ;  M.  D.,  Middle  Door  ;  F.,  the  Flat ;  D.  F,  Door  in 
Flat ;  R.  C,  Right  of  Centre  ;  L.  C.  Left  of  Centre. 

R.  R.C.  C.  L.C.  L. 

*#*  The  reader  is  supposed  to  be  upon  the  Stage,  facing  the  audience. 


SANTA  BARBARA 


-iys 

CAMILLA'S    HUSBAND. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I. 


Curtain  rises  upon  the  exterior  of  a  Country  Inn.  "  The  Red  Lion,"  r  ;  back 
of  scene  to  be  sufficiently  open  to  show  a  considerable  portion  of  the  Village 
and  a  Country  road,  which  appears  and  disappears  winding  among  thick 
clumps  of  trees  ;  Blacksmith's  Shop,  R.  U.  E  ,  and  the  Porch  of  a  quaint 
little  Church,  l.  U.  e.,  form  the  principal  objects  in  the  little  Vdlage  ;  the 
entire  arrangement  of  scene  must  be  very  open,  sunny ,  and  picturesque,  giving 
an  idea  of  rural  beauty  and  seclusion. 

Maybush,  landlord  of  tlie  •'  Red  Lion   Inn,"    is  moving  about,   sprinkling 
ground  with  ivater :  Chowler  at  Smith's  work  in  shop  at  back. 

Chowl.  [r.,  resting  hammer  on  anvil  and  calling  across  to  Matbush.] 
Maybush,  neebor  Maybueh  ! 

May.  [h.  C,  turning  and  moving  a  little  up  stage.]  What  s  gotten  to 
say,  neebor  Chowler  ? 

Choul.  Naething  ;  I  spoke  for  coompany. 

May.  That  be  neeborly.  Thank' ee  Chowler.  [Both  resume  their  oc- 
cupations— the  one  his  hammering,  the  other  his  sprinkling. 

Chowl.   {Same  business  as  at  commencement  of  scene.]  Neebor  Maybush 

May.  [ditto]  Well,  neebor  Chowler  ? 

Chowl.  Hast  seen  any  one  to-day  ? 

May.  Yeas.  [Stands  with  watering-pot  in  one  Jumd,  scratching  head  reflect- 
ively with  the  other.]  I  ha'  seen  thee,  an'  Dick  Purkiss,  an'  blind  old — 

Chowl.  [Coming  to  his  door.]  I  mean  ha'  ye  seed  no  strangers  ? 

May.  [Slowly.]  Noa  ;  I  ha'  seen  none  o'  that  sart  sin'  last  week,  an' 
then  I  see  a  mort  foive  on  'em. 

Chowl.  [Pointing  down  road.]  Then  gie'  thy  eyes  a  rub  an'  IT. 
show  'ee  some  more. 

May.   [Eagerly,  and  going  up  stage.]  Wheer  ? 

Chowl.   [Still pointing.]  Theer  ! 

Doobriar,  Red  Judy,  and  Sloeberrt  are  seen  entering  village,  L.  u.  a.; 
the  Tinker  is  ruling  on  a  donkey,  which  is  laden  with  the  paraphernalia  of 
tlie  tinker's  trade:  the  Woman  and  Girl  are  walking. 

May.  [Contemptuously.]  Them!  they  bean't  naething.  Them's 
tramps. 

Dog.  [Pulling  up  before  Inn.]  Woah  !  [Springing  from  donkey.]  I'm  as 
dry  as  a  sand-pit,  and  holler  as  a  pipkin.  [Cominq  down,  l.  c.|  Land- 
lord !    landlord !  J 

May.  [  Who,  after  eyeing  the  party  with  much  disdain,  has  seated  himutf 
down  stage,  r..  back  to  Tinkbr.]     Cooming ! 


4  CAMILLA' S     nUSBAND. 

Dog.  So's  the  fortin  as  I'm  expectin';  but  if  it  doesn't  make  more 
haste  nor  you  I  shall  die  a  poor  man  yet.  [Scats  himself  and  strikes  fist 
on  table.']  Can  o'  beer  for  me  an'  the  ladies. 

Enter  Red  Judy  and  Sloeberry  into  Inn,  the  former  pushing  tlie  latter 
somewhat  roughly  before  her — Judy  icears  red  gipsy  cloak,aud  bonnet  of  coarse 
straw — Sloeberry  's  appearance  is  more  picturesque  and  fantastic  ;  she  car- 
ries tamborine,  and  her  manner  betokens  both  dejection  and  weariness. 
May.  [Rising  surlily.]  Ladies  !  You  be  the  gentlemen,  I  suppose  ? 
Dog.  Nothing  shorter.  I  horders  and  I  pays — a  hemperor — can  do 
more. 

While  Judt  is  unloading  donkey  of  some  of  the  tinkering  tools — Sloeberry 
has  sunk  down  as  exhausted  on  bench  at  back.] 

May.  Emperors  dunnat  let  the  women  walk  while  they  do  the 
grand  on  a  donkey. 

Dog.  As  the  hanimal's  a  small  one  he's  only  licensed  to  carry  sin- 
gle, so  as  I  'ates  to  make  a  difference,  I  let  'em  both  walk  for  fair- 
ness. [Rising.]  But  you're  a  good  Sammarrian — you  are,  to  stand 
talking  while  a  feller  creatures  dying  wi'  thirst. 

Maybush    shrugs    shoulders,   and  exits  into  inn  r. — Dogbriar  going  up 

stage  h. ,  touches  Sloeberry  on  shoulder  ;  her  hands  are  clasped  loosely  on 

lap  ;  her  head  has  sunk  on  her  breast. 

Dog.  Sloeberry,  lass  !  You  seem  knocked  up  all  of  a  suddent. 
Y*/u  was  bright  enough  when  I  left  you  dancin'  in  t'other  village — I 
know  it's  a  rough  bit  o'  road  'tween  this  and  there. 

Judy.  [Impatiently.]  It's  not  the  road — it's  them  as  she  met  on  it. 

Dog.  Them  !  who  ? 

Judy.  Mad  Maurice  and  Hyacinth  Jonquil.  They'll  be  here  in  a 
minit.  I  left  'em  a  top  o'  the  hill,  taking  a  picture — a  lamb-skip  as 
they  call  it. 

Dog.  [Smiting  his  knees.]  Well  I  never — to  think  o'  meeting  them 
pair  o'  ne'er-do-wells  after  losing  sight  o'  them  for  six  months  an' 
more.  [To  Sloeberry.]  An'  you  takin'  on  after  Maurice.  I'm 
'shamed  on  you.     He'll  never  be  no  good  to  you  nor  any  one  else. 

Judy.  He  never  wastes  a  thought  on  her — or  me,  though  I  brought 
him  up — by  hand. 

Dog.  And  as  it  were  a  hard  hand  it  should  ha'  made  some  impres- 
sion. 

Judy.  I  was  checktaker  at  old  Jupiter  Jonquil's  the-ay-ter,  when 
Maurice  first  come  into  my  charge,  and  as  he  was  a  loveable  little 
chap * 

Dog.  And  old  Jupiter's  payments  reg'lar. 

Judy.  I  was  better  nor  a  mother  to  him. 

Dog.  A  mother  might  have  sp'ilt  him— you  didn't. 

Judy.  But  old  Jonquil  did,  when  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  make 
a  scholard  of  him  along  wi'  young  Hyacinth,  his  son,  and  taught 
him  to  paint  scenes  an'  sich  like,  'stead  o'  something  useful  okipation. 

Dog.  Sich   as  tinkerin',  which  is  a  thing  as  everybody  wants; 


Camilla's  husband.  6 

while  picturs,  -when  you've  looked  at  'em  once,  ain't  good  for  noth- 
ing. 

Slo.  [With  sudden  animation.']  Oh,  father!  I've  heard  Manager 
Jonquil  say  that  Maurice  painted  like  an  angel. 

Dog.  P'raps  !  as  I  ain't  come  across  many  hangels  in  my  time,  I 
can't  say  what's  expected  of  'em  in  that  line  ;  but  what  I  do  know 
is  that  all  Maurice  makes  he  spends,  and  all  in  licker. 

Slo.   [Sadly.]  He's  drinking  himself  to  death. 

Bog.  Which  is  a  frightful  thing  to  think  on.  [Take?  jug  from  May- 
bush  who  enters,  and  drinks.]  Besides,  it's  selfish,  and  selfishness  I  can't 
abear.  [Gives  jug  to  Judy. 

Judy.    [Glancing  into  jug  with  blank  surprise.]  Empty  ! 

Slo.   [At  door  of  inn.]  They're  coming  along  the  road. 

Dog.  Who? 

Slo.  [Joyfully.]  Maurice  and  Hyacinth — Maurice  Warner  ! 

Maurice  Warner  and  Hyacinth  Jonquil  heard  singing. 
There  was  a  jolly  miller  once  lived  on  the  river  Dee, 
He  danced  and  sang  from  morn  till  night  no  lark  so  blithe 
as  he.  [Tiiey  appear  at  back  singing. 

And  this  the  burden  of  his  song  for  ever  used  to  be, 
"  I  care  for  nobody,  no,  not  I,  if  nobody  cares  for  me.'  " 

They  enter  L.  u.  e.  singing  the  last  line  ;  both  are  habited  in  suits  threadbare 
and  covered  with  dust — they  wear  battered  hats  and  have  knapsacks  on  their 
backs — the  appearance  of  Maurice  Warner  wild,  careless,  and  haggard, 
as  from  much  dissipation,  a  mixture  of  poetic  excitement  with  a  hard  cynical 
indifference — Jonquil  carries  a  sketching  apparatus,  &rc,  which  he  fixes  care- 
fully back  of  stage. 

Maurice.  [As  he  comes  down  stage  carelessly,  doffing  hat  and  unslinging 
knapsack.]  Good  day  to  the  companv!  [Tossing  knapsack  on  bench,  R.] 
An  old  friend  but  a  heavy  burden.  [Slapping  Maybush  on  back.]  Hollo, 
landlord,  some  brandy. 

Jonquil.     [Aside  and  intercepting  Maybush  as  he  is  passing  out.]  Ale. 

Maybush.  And  brand}'  ? 

Jonquil.   [Aside  with  emphasis.]  And  no  brandy.    [Exit  Maybush,  r. 

Mau.  [To  Docbriar  ]  What,  thou  Prince  of  Tinkers,  art  still  in 
the  land  of  the  living?  [Speaking  to  Jonquil  his  hand  on  Dogbriar's 
shoulder.]  A  wondrous  fellow  this,  ever  mending,  but  nev<  r  improv- 
ing— a  black  smutch  upon  the  face  of  nature — an  ignus  fatuus,  or 
wandering  fire. 

Dog.   [i.  Angrily.]  Ha'  done  wi'  your  names 

Mau.  Never  be  angry,  old  Tubal  Cain.  Thou  shalt  have  moisture 
for  thy  dusty  throat. 

Jonquil.  Landlord!  the  drink  !  [Maybvsti  places  jug  on  table.]  What's 
this? 

Enter  Maybush,  r.  with  ale. 

May.  Ale. 

Jonquil.  [Seating  himself  on  corner  of  the  table  L.,  and  filling  glasses.]  As 
we  were  thirsty  I  thought 


6  Camilla's  husband. 

Mau.  [Laughs.]  I  know  as  usual,  you  thought  for  me.  [Taps  fore- 
head ]  To  let  unfurnished — eh,  Jonquil  ?  Well  drink  is  drink,  so  toss 
it  down.  [Drinks. 

Slo.  [Aside,  l.]  Poor  Maurice  ! 

Mau.   [Seated  on  other  corner  of  table  passes  glasses  about.'] 

Dog.  How  are  you  getting  on  wi'  your  purfession,  Maurice  ?  Not 
that  I  think  much  on  it. 

Mau.  [Rising  quickly.]  Not  think  much  of  it?  [With  enthusiasm.] 
What  higher  glory  than  to  he  a  painter — a  true  painter — to  see  and 
understand  nature  in  her  myriad  aspects — to  see  each  fleeting  beauty 
and  fix  it,  still  living  and  breathing  on  the  canvass,  to — [Stops  abruptly 
andjasses  hand  over  forehead .]  Bah  !  we' re  both  tinkers,  Dogbriar  !  you 
alter  your  fashion,  I  after  mine. — 

[Fills  glass  with  an  unsteady  hand  and  drinks. 

Dog.  [With  dignity.]  Tinker!  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  anything 
else!  In  summer  I  roam  about  like  the  butterflies  In  the  winter  I 
takes  to  the  towns,  and  lives  as  'appy  as  a  rat  in  a  gran' ry — as  happy 
as  you  mignt  ha'  been  if  Manager  Jonquil  hadn't  given  you  a  heddi- 
cation. 

Jon.  [rising]  Take  care  Mr.  Dogbriar  ;  you're  speaking  of  my 
father. 

Mau.  [restraining  Jonquil.]  Let  him  talk — let  him  talk — wisdom 
speakuth  by  the  wayside— give  heed  to  it. 

Dog.  The  worst  of  heddication  is  people  never  knows  when  to 
stop  ;  none  of  us  knows  how  bad  our  misfortins  are  till  we  reads  on 
'em,  and  as  for  writin,  as  soon  as  a  poor  chap  can  figger  out  his  own 
name,  he  takes  to  scribblin'  somebodyelse's  name — leastways  it 
were  so  in  my  family. 

Mau.  Proceed,  most  learned  Theban. 

Dog.  Eeadin'  and  writin's  very  well  for  them  as  can  afford  to  he 
idle  ;  but  a  man  as  has  got  to  yearn  a  living,  [with  great  contempt]  ain'^ 
got  no  time  for  any  such  knick-knackeries,  [pointing  to  Sloeberry] 
Why,  I  warn't  half  her  age  when  my  guv'nor  turned  me  adrift. 
We  was  six  in  family,  an'  rubbed  on  pretty  well  till  another  one 
comes  to  be  horned.  Then  the  old  'un — that's  my  father — says  to- 
me, "Doggy,"  says  he — for  he'd  always  an  affectionate  turn, 
"  Doggy  !  six  mouths  is  as  much  as  I  can  'onestly  feed,  so  yours  is 
one  too  many,  and  a  precious  large  one  too."  Then  he  takes  me  by 
the  scruff,  [indicating  back  of  neck]  and  starts  me  in  the  world  wi'  fust 
one  boot,  and  then  the  other.  Them  kicks  made  a  man  o'  me. 
[wipes  hts  eyes  with  end  of  neck-tie]  I  never  thinks  on  'em  but  they 
brings  tears  in  my  eyes,  [he  goes  up  stage,  and  off  r.  u.  e.] 

Mau.  [to  Jonquil,  laughing]  The  oracle  speaks  truth,  even  though 
its  tripod  is  a  tinker's  stool.  Bad  or  good,  accept  your  lot,  that's 
your  only  true  happiness. 

Jon.  [warmly]  Have  you  no  ambition,  Maurice  ? 

Mau.  Once  I  had.  I  sought  a  someting — I  know  not  what — a 
something  above — beyond  me — it  was  but  an  uncertain  flickering 
light  at  the  best — and  [passes  hand  vaguely  over  foreltead]  it  is  gone. 


CAMILLA  S     HUSBAND.  7 

Jon.  [sadly]  Maurice — Maurice  !  I  sometimes  think  you  mad  ! 

Mau.  At  present  madness  is  a  happiness  denied  me  ;  I  would 
forget  myself,  old  friend,  but  cannot,  [holds  out  hand]  Is  that  the 
hand  of  a  painter  ?    That  ?  [bitterly]  It  is  shaking  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

Jon.  And  you  asked  for  brandy  when  you  entered. 

Mau.  Why  not  ?  It  steadies  the  nerves  ;  it  fires  the  brain,  and 
gives  the-  impetus  I  want.  I  must  drink  to  paint,  and  I  must  paint 
to  live. 

Jon.  But  the  future  ? 

Mau.  The  present  hour  is  enough  for  me.  [placing  hand  on  Jon- 
quil's shoulder]  We  are  alone  in  the  world,  Jonquil,  without  family 
and  without  friends,  two  of  those  rolling  stones,  now  in  the  sun- 
shine now  in  the  shade,  that  never  rest  till  they  have  gathered  their 
first  and  last  moss  in  a  pauper's  grave.  You  gone,  what  have  I  to 
live  for  ? — nothing. 

Jon.  You  have  your  art — a  glorious  one  ! 

Mau.  Fit  for  the  gods  !  [laughs]  And  for  the  gods  alone,  for  it 
brings  only  sorrow  and  starvation  upon  earth.  Your  father  used  to 
say  that  a  man  must  live  a  century  to  know  the  world,  and  then 
live  another  to  profit  by  the  knowledge.  The  jolly  miller's  philoso- 
phy was  the  right  one  after  all.   [sings.] 

"  I  care  for  nobody,  no,  not  I,  if  nobody  cares  for  me." 

Slo.  [who  has  come  down  stage,  l.  c,  places  her  hand  upon  Maurice's 
arm],  But  somebody  does  care  for  you  ;  Jonquil  does,  and  I  do. 

Mau.  [very  kindly.]  What,  are  you  there,  Sloeberry  ?  [patting  arm 
about  her.]  Then  I  love  one,  at  least— nay,  two.  [giving  unoccupied  hand 
to  Jonquil] 

Slo.   [looking  up  into  his/ace.]  You  can  love,  Maurice  ? 

Mau.  Like  a  brother  ;  but  it's  dry  work  talking.  [Goes  to  table. 
Landlord!  the  jug's  empty. 

Maybush,    who,   together  with  Chowler,    has  been  examining  the  sketching 
apparatus  with  siupid  astonishment,  comes  quickly  down  stage. 

Mau.  The  jug's  empty.     Well,  what  are  you  stopping  for? 

May.   [Up  R.]  The  money. 

[There  is  a  silenee,  Jonquil  looks  ruefully  at  Sloeberry. 

Mau.  [  Who  has  thrown  himself  in  chair,  looks  from  one  to  the  other.] 
You're  cash-keeper,  Hyacinth  ;  how  much  remains  ? 

Jon.   [By  a  sudden  movement  draws  out  two  empty  pockets.]     Nothing. 

[Maurice  laughs. 

May.  [Comes  dozen,  c]  Naething !  and  ye  coom  here  a  tarkin'  as 
thof  all  th'  country  soide  belonged  to  'ee.  For  thirsty  folk  as  ha' 
no  money  there's  the  pump,  while  for  tramps  and  sich  loike  theer'a 

the  constable  an'  the  cage.     Yuu'll  get  naething  here,  unless 

[He  is  going  up  stage,  stops  suddenly,  wheels  round  and  surveys  Maurice 
doubtfully.] 

Mau.  Unless  what  ? 

May.  I  think  some  one  said  you  could  paint. 


8  Camilla's  husband. 

Slo.  Maurice  paint  !• 

Jon.  Like  a  Raphael  ! 

May.  I  want  naething  to  do  wi'  raffles.      Can  you  paint  pictures  ? 

Mau.  [Carelessly.]  Why  ? 

May.  I  ha'  gotten  a  beauty. 

Mau.   [Half  rises.]  You! 

May.  It's  a  little  damaged,  and  if  you  can  make  it  raight,  the 
whole  o'  ye  may  ha'  as  much  as  ye  can  eat  an'  drink  at  one  sittin', 
for  naething. 

Mdu.  [Shortly.]  Fetch  it.  [Maybusii  exits  at  back.]  After  all,  art 
may  yield  a  dinner,  at  least. 

[Sloeberry  has  joined  Judy  who  is  squatted,  l.,  knitting. 

Mau.  [Seeded  carelessly  on  table,  one  foot  on  chair,  the  other  on  the  ground — ■ 
he  is  J  tiling  pipe.]     What  are  you  about,  Hyacinth  ? 

Jon.  [Brings  doivn  palette  and  brushes.]  Earning  my  share  of  the  din- 
ner. [They  laugh. 

Maybush  re-enters  carrying  a  board  or  panel,  the  face  of  which  must  be  kept 
turned  from  the  audience— he  brings  it  down  stage,  and  places  it  on  chair,  in 
a  position  so  that  the  face  still  remains  unseen  by  either  Maurice  or  Au- 
dience; this  done,  Maybush  loolcs  at  Maurice  with  a  patronizing  smile. 
Back  of  Stage  has  been  gradually  filling  with  Villagers. 

Mau.  Is  that  the  picture?     It  should  be  an  old  one  by  the  panel. 
May.  Old  !  three  generations  ha'  been  drunk  under  it. 

Mau.  Under  it !  [Maybush  turns  panel  and  exhibits  a  grotesque  "Red 
Lion,"    very  rampant. 

Mau.   [Springs  from  table.]  Why,  it's  the  sign  ! 

May.  [Proudly.]  It  be  the  sign;  my  gran'fether  painted  'im  his 
sen  an'  fixed  'im  o'er  the  door  afterwards. 

Mau.  [Laughs.]  This  will  make  the  third  I've  painted  within  the 
last  twelve  days.  [Aside.]  And  each  to  discharge  a  reckoning. 
[Aloud  ]  A  marvellous  monster  !  be  content ;  your  lion  shall  be  the 
king  of  beasts. 

May.  [Doubtfully.]  A  king  bean' t  a  lion. 

Mau.  [Takes  colors,  Sfc.,  from  knapsack.]  I'll  take  as  much  pains  as 
though  the  portrait  were  your  own.  Place  the  animal  there. 
[Points  to  chair,  r.]  Good  !  [Seats  himself  before  it.]  Where's  the  brandy 

May.   [Having  fetched  it,  produces  brandy.]  Here. 

Mau.  Better!  [Prepares  to  paint.]  Now  go  and  attend  to  your  guests, 
fcr  you  seem  to  have  enough  of  them. 

Jon.  [  Who  has  taken  out  paper  and  crayons  as  about  to  sketch,  addresses 
Villagers,  who  group  about  him  up  stage.]  I  can't  take  all  your  heads 
off  at  once.  [They  draw  back]  Each  portrait,  sixpence;  colored, 
sixpence  more.  [Aside  to  Maybush.]  Out  of  each  shilling,  twopence 
for  you. 

Jon.  [To  Maurice.]  How  are  you  getting  on,  Maurice  ? 

Mau  [Laughing  and  pointing  to  Lion.]  I  paint  the  beauties  of 
nature. 

Jon.  [Who  is  sketching  a  Villager.]  And  I  their  opposite. 


Camilla's  husband.  9 

Judy.  [Coming  down  singe,  r..  knitting  and  addressing  Maurice,  who 
is  painting,  k.]  '  Twas  a  bad  thing  for  you,  Maurice,  when  old  Jupiter 
Jonquil  died. 

Mau.  [Fainting.']  It's  always  a  bad  thing  to  lose  a  friend,  Judy,  and 
he  was  my  only  one. 

Judy.  Your  only  one.  And  them's  all  the  thanks  I  get.  "Sou  ain't 
made  so  much  by  your  paintin',  that  you  should  turn  your  nose  up 
at  me  an'  Sloeberry. 

Mau.  [Quickly.]  Sloeberry  !  my  little  foster  sister  !  poor  child  !  for 
her  sake  alone  I  could  wish  myself  other  than  I  am.  [Pours  out 
brandy  and  drinks.]  But  destiny's  too  much  for  me  ;  all  depends  where 
a  man's  thrown.  I'm  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  fire — ot  fire — from 
which  there's  no  escape  ;  so  scorpion-' like  in  my  very  desperation,  I 
sting  myself  to  death.  [Drinks.]  There,  don't  bother  me,  [he 
laug/is,]  or  I  shall  spoil  the  sign  board. 

Judy.  [Shrugging  shoulders,  and  speaking  aside  as  she  moves  up  stage.] 
You're  a  lost  one  anyhow.  Dogbriar  is  right.  He  says  he  wouldn't 
be  a  genius  on  no  account.  [Goes  up. 

Maybusii,  now  in  a  state  of  high  excitement  re-enters  at  back. 

May.  [Seizing  Jonquil  by  the  sleeve — they  come  down,  L.  c  ]  Coom  over 
to  Todd's  varm  ;  he  ha'  sent  for  'ee. 

Jon.    Who's  Todd? 

May.  Squoire  Todd  ;  he  wants  a  dozen  portraits. 

Jon.  [Hurriedly  rises.]  Of  his  children  ? 

May.  Noa  !  Of  his  pigs. 

Jon.  [Hesitates.]  Pigs  !  Never  mind — they're  family  portraits,  any- 
how. [He  exits  at  back,  attended  by  Villagers. 

May.  [About  to  folloiv,  turns  to  glance  at  Maurice.]  Dang  me,  if  he 
beant  fallen  asleep  over  my  lion. 

He  is  about  to  descend  stage  to  arouse  him,  when  there  is  a  great  ?wise  at  back, 
any  a  post  chaise  with  much  cracking  of  whips  is  heard  to  drive  up  L.  to 
door  of  Inn ;  Lady  Camilla  Hailstone  and  Miss  Placida  Poyntz 
enter  from  L.  u.  e.  Lady  Camilla  is  dressed  with  great  elegance ;  her 
manners  quick  and  impetuous,  yet  full  of  distinction.  She  is  very  young, 
and  altogether  in  direct  contrast  to  her  companion,  who  is  quiet,  prim,  and 
middle-aged.  Maurice,  who  has  fallen  asleep,  his  liead  against  pa?iel,  and 
the  empty  bottle  at  his  feet,  is,  from  his  position,  hidden  from  the  new  arrivals. 

May.  [Backing  down  stage  ivith  a  prof  usion  of  rustic  bows.]  This  be  the 
Red  Lion,  my  Lady,  though  the  sign  be 

Lady  C.  [Haughtily,  and  pausing  in  centre  of  stage.]  You  are  the  land- 
lord, I  presume. 

May.  At  your  ladyship's  service. 

Lady  C.  I  have  a  strange,  a  very  strange  demand  to  make  of  you. 

Miss  P.  [Interposes,  and  speaking  in  an  alarmed  undertone.]  Lady  Camilla, 
I  implore  you,  listen  to  reason. 

Lady  C.  [Impatiently.]  I  have  reasons  too  many. 

Miss  P.  [With  a  despairing  entreaty.]  Oh,  reflect. 


10  Camilla's   husband. 

Lady  C.  [Haughtily.]  I  have  reflected.  [Turning  to  Maybush.]  Land- 
lord, you  must  rind  me  a  husband. 

May.  [recoils,  his  cap  drops  from  his  Iiand  and  he  stares  open  mouthed  at 
the  lady.]  I  find — Oh-h-h  my  lady  ! 

Lady  C.  [without  heading  his  astonishment,  ana  with  the  same  imperious 
bearing.]  When  I  say  huaband  I  mean  some  person,  who  for  a  sum  of 
money  a — large  sum  would — consent  to  marry  me. 

Miss  P.   [again  interposes.']  Lady  Camilla  ! 

Lady  C.  [checking  her  by  a  gesture.]  And  immediately  after  the  cere- 
mony allow  me  to  depart  without  questioning  or  seeking  by  any 
means  to  know  aught  of  me  now  or  hereafter.     He  must  swear  this. 

May.   [bewildered.]  But- 

Lady  C.  The  church  is  there,  in  front  of  your  door,  and  I  have 
a  licence  which  only  requires  filling  up.  Quick,  [she  jlajices  at  watch 
and  turns  to  Placida.]  Should  they  have  taken  the  same  road  we 
have  not  a  minute  to  lose. 

May.  [slowly  scratching  head.]  Most  on  us  here  be  married  a'  ready 
—a  miserable  lot,  I  can  assure  your  ladyship. 

Lady  C.   [to  Placida,]  We'll  go  on  to  the  next  village. 

May.  [aside,  and  glancing  over  at  forge.]  There,  Chowler  !  I'll  try 
him.  ' 

lie  goes  up  stage  and  beckons  over  Chowler  :  Lady  Camilla  and  Placida 
have  come  doicn  stage  L.,  while  Maurice,  aroused  by  the  noise  of  the  arrival 
has  risen,  still  unperceived,  and  stands  r.  with  one  hand  resting  on  panel, 
gazing  with  wonder  upon  the  proud  and  beautiful  girl. 

Lady  C.  My  good  Placida,  do  not  look  so  alarmed.  A  desperate 
disease  requires  a  desperate  remedy.  I  have  sworn  to  break  the 
chain,  and  I  will.  I  am  a  woman— a  girl,  if  you  will ;  but  they 
shall  still  find  I  am  not  powerless  to  avenge. 

Chowler,  who  has  crossed  over  to  Maybush,  no  sooner  receives  the  intima- 
tion of  what  is  expected  of  him,  given  in  rapid  dumb  show,  than  ivlthout  even 
glancing  at  Lvdy  Camilla,  he  beats  a  hurried  retreat  into  his  forge,  shut- 
ting his  door  wit,h  a  bang. 

Re-enter  Maybush. 

May.  [crest-fallen.]  I  be  afear'd  my  lady 

Lady  C.   [stampsher  foot  impatiently.]  Enough!  We'll  go  on.    [Skesweeps 
quickly  up  the  stage ;  when  Maurice,   who  has  moved  round  from  his 
position  of  half -concealment,  stands  before  her.     Lady  C.  draws  back  sur- 
prised and  startled  at  the  sudde?iness  of  this  apparition,  but  quickly  recovers 
her  self -possession,  and  speaks  with  her  usual  hauteur.] 
Lady  C.  Who  are  you  ?         • 
Man.   [l..  quietly.]  Nobody. 
Lady  C.  What  are  you  ? 

Mau.  [same  tone.]  Nothing.     The  very  man  you  require. 
Lady  C.  Sir. 
Mau.  Pardon  me,  if  by  accident  I  have  played  eavesdropper  ;  but, 

having  heard  your  demand,  I  reply  to  it. 


Camilla's  husband.  11 

Lady  C.  You  want  money. 

Mau.  The  want  is  universal. 

Lady  C.  And  having  heard  the  terms — ? 

Mau.  Consent,  [he  spealcs  in  his  old  careless  manner.]  Anything  to 
oblige  a  lady. 

Lady  C.  The  ceremony  performed,  I  depart  at  once,  and  unques- 
tioned ;  [Maurice  bows]  and  you  will  never  see  my  face  again. 

Mau.  [raises  his  eyes  to  hers,  gazes  on  her  face  steadfastly  for  a  moment.] 
Except  at  your  own  desire — never. 

Lady  C.   [haughtily.]  At  my  desire  !  you  forget  yourself  ! 

Mau.  [calmly.]  I  would  it  were  possible  for  me  to  do  so.  What 
I  am  you  see,  what  I  am  like  to  be  it  is  not  difficult  to  guess. 

Lady  C.  Nor  does  it  concern  me  to  know.     [7b  Placida.J     Come. 

Miss  P.    [Up  stage,  C,  in  a  low  tone.]  Be  warned  ! 

Lady  C.  Same  tone,  but  quick  and  impatient.]  You  know  my  reasons — 
am  I  not  of  age  ?  [Turns  to  go  up  stage,  c. 

Miss  P.  [Aside  tvith  gesture  of  despair.]  Just  four-and- twenty  hours 
ago. 

Lady  C.  [To  Maybush,  ivho  has  sunk  into  a  state  of  chronic  astonishment.] 
You  will  witness  this  marriage.  You  shall  be  well  paid  for  your 
trouble.  [To  Placida.]  Come.  [  Without  glancing  again  at  Maurice, 
wlwse  eyes  have  never  left  her,  she  goes  up  stage  zcith  Placida  Poyntz. 

Mau.  [With  a  curious  bewilderment.]  Am  I  awake  ?  Bah!  what  mat- 
ters— married  or  single  it's  all  one  to  me  ! 

Goes  up  stage  quickly — they  exeunt,  l.  v.  K. 

The  stage  is  clear  for  a  moment,  then  enter  Dogbriar,  carrying  two  saucepans 
andafrying-paji.    With  him  Sloeberry,  Judy,  andsome  Villagers,  r.  u.  k. 

Dog.  [Coming  down  stage,  l.]  Here's  a  willage  !  Talk  of  ciwilization  ! 
why  they  ain't  got  more  nor  a  kipple  o'  sarspins  and  a  frying-pan 
amongst  'em. 

Slo.  [Coming  close  to  him  and  looking  round  anxiously.]  Where's  Mau- 
rice ? 

Dog.  [Testily.]  How  should  I  know?  [Examines  saucepan.]  Drat 
the  nasty  creetures,  why  don't  they  clean  their  sarspans  afore  givin 
'em  to  be  mended. 

Slo.  But  when  I  left  he  was  here. 

Dog.  And  now  he's  somewhere  else — there,  don't  'rasperate  me ; 
don't  you  see  I'm  at  work. 

Re-enter  Jonquil,  l,  u.  k. 

Jon.  [Gaily.]  Landlord  !  landlord  !  [Comes  down  stage,  l.  clinking 
money  in  his  hand.]  Where's  the  landlord  ?  This  is  the  music  we  all 
dance  to. 

Dog.   [Sealed  on  side-bench  tinkering.]  Are  the  pigs  done  ? 

Jon.  To  a  turn.  [Leans  over  Dogbriar.]  What  are  you  about  ?  I 
call  that  making  a  hole,  not  mending  one. 

Dog.  [Slily.]  I  does  as  my  betters  does — Whenevever  I'm  called  in 
to  mend  one  hole,  I  gives  the  inside  a  scrape  here  an'  there — this 


12  Camilla's  husband. 

fashin',  [scrapes,]  so  by  the  time  I  comes  that  way  .agin  there's  sure 
to  be  two  or  three  more  wants  mendin'.  That's  politics,  that  is, 
and  what  I  culls  gettin'  your  your  feed  out  of  other  folks'  sarsepins. 
[Judy  comes  down  stage,  L.,  touches  Sloeberry  roughly  on  the  shoulder. 

Tue  latter  is  sealed,  her  head  bent  as  in  a  reverie,  her  fingers  moving  dream- 
ily over  tambourine. 

Judy.   [Harshly.']  Come,  dance  ! 

Slo.   [Rising  ]  Not  now — not  now. 

Judy.  Not  now  !  nonsense  !  [Indicating  Vdlagers.]  Money's  made 
where  fools  are  thickest.  Give  'em  the  dance  that  used  to  go  so 
well  at  Jupiter  Jonquil's  theaytcr.     The  gay  one. 

Slo.  Gay  !     [She  rallies  tanborine.]     My  heart  is  like  lead. 

Villagers.  [Aide  and  female,  coming  down  stage.]  A  dance  !  a  dance  ! 
Sloererry    dances  a  short,    bright,  fantastic   Spanish  dance.     Dogbriab 

beating  time  upon  frying  pan.      While  she  is  dancing,  Jonquil,  who  has 

gone  out  at  buck,  re-enters  hurriedly. 

Jon.  Maurice  !  Maurice  Warner  married  !     Impossible  ! 
There  is  a  confused  movement  among  the  Villagers,  who  draw  back  on  either 

side  as  Lady  Camilla  Hailstone,  Miss  Placida  Poyntz,  Maurice 

Warner,  and  Maybusii  enter  from  Church  porch  l.  u.  e.     Lady  Ca- 
.  milla  is  now  closely  veiled:  as  she  comes  down  stage,  Sloeberry,  who  in 

her  dance  lias  approached  her,  drops  tamborine  with  a  cry. 

Sloe.  Married  !  [She  staggers  back,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Lady  Camilla,  and 
pressing  her  hand  on  her  heart,  leans  for  support  against  table. 

Lady  C.  [Centre  of  stage  to  Maurice.]  And  now,  sir,  we  part,  never 
to  meet  again.  For  the  service  you  have  rendered,  in  this  pocket- 
book  you  will  find  a  sufficient  recognition.  [She  extends  pocket-book, 
which  Maurice  takes  mechanically ;  he  seeim  like  one  completely  fascinated — 
his  manner  strangely  bewildered,  his  eyes  rivetted,  as  it  ivere,  upon  the  veil  that 
conceals  Camilla's/occ.]  Farewell,  sir.  [Maurice  is  about  to  speak,  she 
stops  him  by  a  cold  gesture  of  command.]  I  depart  unquestioned — we  part 
— and  forever.  [She  moves  up  stage,  pausing  only  to  throiv  a  small  purse  to 
Maybusii,  then  sweeping  past  the  curtseying  and  bowing  Villagers,  goes  off 
with  Placida  Poyntz,  l.  v.  e. 

Jon.  [Placing  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Maurice,  who  still  stands  immove- 
able, his  eyes  fixed  on  the  place  where  Camilla  had  been  standing,  as  though 
to  him  she  were  still  there.  The  pocket-book  has  dropped  from  his  hand,  and 
lies  at  his  feet.]     Maurice !  rouse  yourself  !    are  you  dreaming  ? 

Mau.  [Starts.]  Dreaming  !  true,  it  is  a  dream. 

Dog.  [Approaclws  with  glass  of  spirits.]   Take  a  drop  o'  this,  Maurice. 

Maurice  takes  it  in  the  same  dreamy,  mechanical  way  with  whicJi  he  had 

taken  the  pocket-book ;    then,   without  booking  at  it,  places  it — to  the  wide 

astonishment  of  Mr.  Dogbriar  on  table. 

Dog.  [r.]  Well,  I  never  ! 

Jon.   [l.,  who  has  picked  up  pocket-book.]  Come. 

Mau.  [a.,  with  sudden  energy.]  Yes!  you  are  in  the  right  ;  let  us 
push  on.   [Hurriedly  re-slinging  knapsack,  Sec]  As  for  the  landlord 

Jon.  He's  paid. 


Camilla's   husband.  13 

Mau.  Come  then  !  the  air  of  the  place  is  stifling,   [to  Dogbriar,  as 
he  goes  up  stage.']  We  shall  meet  on  the  road. 
The  two  friends  exeunt  at  back — in  the  road  Maurice  Warner  halls  for  a 

moment,  and  leaning  upon  the  staff  he  carries,  gazes  earnestly  in  the  direction 

taken  by   Lady  Camilla — Jonquil  again  touches  him  upon  the  shoulder, 

and,  with  a  gesture  as  of  utter  bewilderment,  Maurice  turns,  and  they  go 

off  quickly,  r.  u.  e. 

Judy.   {Down  stage,  r.,  to  Dogbriar.]  So  Maurice  is  really  married. 

Dog.  Ah  !    I  knew  he'd  come  to  no  good.     Mat'er'mony  is  like  a 
chark  pit,  easy  enough  to  tumble  into,  but  precious  hard  to  get  out 
on.     [To  Sloeberry.]     Come  Sloe,  we'd  best  be  trudgin,  too. 
They  move  slowly  up  stage,   R.,  and  exeunt — there  is  again  heard  the  rolling 

of  wheels  and  cracking  of  whips. 

Eiiter  Sir  James  and  Sir  Philip  Hailstone,  hurriedly  from  l.  u.  b. 

Sir  Phil.   [Sharply  as  they  enter  ]   Which  is  the  landlord  here  ? 

May.   [Bowing]  At  your  service. 

Sir  Phil.   Has  a  lady — a  young  and  beautiful  lady  stopped  here? 

May.  They  ha'  but  this  moment  departed. 

Sir  Phil.  [With  triumph.]  I  knew  we  should  overtake  them. 

[They  are  going  quickly  tip  stage,  when  Maybush  produces  a  sealed  paper. 

May.  She  left  this  for  any  as  moight  enquire  for  her. 

Sir  Phil.   [Snatching  paper.]    Give  it  me  !    [Tearing  it  open.]    I — this 
gentleman  is  her  uncle.    [He  glances  at  paper.]    A  marriage  certificate  ! 
this  is  folly  !  worse  !  much  worse  !    it  is  ruin. 
Tableau— Sir  J  A.ME&  fallen  in  chair,  l.,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands — Philip 

Hailstone,  r.  ,  leaning  against  table,  his  face  expressing  rage  and  disap- 
pointment— Maybush  a  little  up  stage,  cap  in  hand — at  back,  Dogbriar, 

Judy,  and  Sloeberry— -former  on  donkey. 

ACT  II— SCENE    I. 

A  Scene  in  the  Lake  District.  The  foreground,  an  interior  of  abbey  ruins, 
very  picturesque,  but  in  the  last  stage  of  crumbling  decay — the  ruins  must  be 
very  open  in  their  effect,  to  give  a  broad  view  of  the  lake,  which,  broken  by 
creek  and  promontory,  stretches  away  in  placid  beauty  to  base  of  mountains 
that  rise  gradually  in  precipice  and  gorge,  until  crowned  by  the  peak  of 
Slciddaw — sky  blue  and  cloudless,  general  effect  very  bright  and  sunny,  so 
as  to  give  prominence  to  the  mountain  peaks — the  curtain  rises  upon  an 
empty  stage — merry  music  heard  as  from  unseen  musicians  among  ruins — 
then  a  confusion  of  voices,  and  from  every  side  comes  crowding  upon  stage  a 
gay  company  of  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  all  in  elegant,  some  in  fanciful 
toilet,  many  of  the  ladies  wear  an  archery  costume,  and  a  few  of  the  gentle- 
men are  in  yachting  dress — the  whole  entrance  very  bright  and  animated. 
Every  effort  should  be  made  to  give  this  scene  the  appearance  of  haut  ton. 

Major.  Who  has  Avon  the  silver  arrow  ? 

A  Lady.   [In  archery  costume.]  Lady  Roseville. 

Shrimp.  But  where  is  Lady  Camilla,  the  queen  of  the  fete  ? 


14  Camilla's  husband. 

Several  Voices.  Here  !    she's  here  ! 
Music. — The  crowd  at  back  slowly  divides  to  give  passage  to  Lady  Camilla 
Hailstone,   who,    accompanied  by  Lady    Roseville,    Miss  Placida 
Poyntz,  Sir  Philip  and  Sir  Thomas  Kendal,  comes  down  from  stage, 

r.  v.  e.     Lady  Camilla's  toilet  is  very  elegant,  and  somewhat  fanciful, 

befitting  a  fashionable  fete  champetrt.      Lady   Roseville  wears  a  rich 

archery  costume.     Miss  Placida,  attired  in  dove-colored  silk — no  crinoline 

— appearance  calm,  stiff,  and  angular. 

Lady  C.  [  Who  carries  a  small  silver  arrow.]  The  prize  is  fairly  yours, 
Lady  Roseville.  [Giving  arrow.]  Diana  herself  could  not  have 
bent  a  bow  better,  nor  sent  an  arrow  truer  to  the  mark. 

Lady  R.  It  might  have  been  otherwise  had  Lady  Camilla  deigned 
to  enter  the  lists. 

Lady  C.  [Laughs.]  She  would  most  assuredly  have  been  conquered, 
for,  were  I  to  take  to  archery,  I  should  shoot  as  blindly  as  the  little 
love  god  himself. 

Shrimp.  [He  always  speaks  ivith  a  simper.]  Ah  !  Lady  Camilla,  which 
of  us  has  not  already  been  struck  by  one  of  those  wandering  shafts  ? 

Lady  C.  If  Captain  Shrimpton  receives  no  deeper  wounds,  war 
will,  indeed,  prove  to  him  the  most  innocent  of  pastimes.  [To 
Placida]  Well,  my  most  placid  Placida,  why  are  you  r-o  grave  ? 
Is  there  aught  in  our  fete  that  offends  you  ? 

Miss  P.  Oh  !  Lady  Camilla  !  what  pleases  others,  must  please  me 
— I  know  my  position,  yet 

Lady  C.   [  Very  kindly.]  Yet  what  ? 

Miss  P.  As  I  am  called  upon  to  speak,  I  think  a  little  economy, 
[All  laugh.]  Oh  !  I  apologise,  it  is  my  duty  to  do  so — and  I  apol- 
ogise . 

Lady  C.  [Laughs.]  For  what  ? 

Miss  P.  For  venturing  an  opinion.  Speech  is  silver,  but  silence 
is  gold,  says  the  proverb. 

Lady  C.  [Quick — aside  to  Miss  Placida.]  You  at  least  have  found  it 
so.  [Aloud,  with  change  of  manner,  and  turning  to  Major  Lumley.]  We 
are  impatient  for  the  regatta  these  gentlemen  have  promised  us. 

Major.  [Pointing  to  lake — upon  ivhich  several  small  pleasure  yachts  appear 
at  a  distance.]  There  are  the  boats,  in  a  few  minutes  they  will  be 
here.  [A  merry  confusion  of  voices,  l.  u.  e. 

Shrimp.  [Coming  down.]  A  fortune-teller  !  perfect  Mother  Shipton 
— red  cloak — brown  face — everything  as  it  should  be. 

Red  Judy  appears  at  back,  l.  u.  e.  ,  surrounded  by  ladies. 

Lady  R.  [To  Lady  Camilla.]  Another  pleasant  surprise !  Your 
fete  is  perfect,  my  dear. 

Lady  C.  A  surprise  of  which  I  am  ignorant  of  the  author — but  of 
■which  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  take  advantage.  [Gaily.]  Come  who  is 
anxious  to  know  what  the  future  has  in  store  for  them  ? 

Sir  Phil.  [Shrugs  shoulders  and  slightly  glances  at  Lady  Camilla.]  But 
few  I  should  think. 

Lady  C.  [Shakes  fingers.]  You  said  that  with  the  air  of  a  Mephisto- 
pheles     Ycm  are  no  believer  in  destiny,  Sir  Philip  ? 


Camilla's  husband.  16 

Sir  Philip,  [it.,  laugh.]  We  are  the  makers  of  our  own,  as  the  old 
poet  says — 

"Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  hy  us  still." 

[Turns  to  Lady  Camilla  .]  What  is  your  opinion,  cousin  ? 

Lady  G.  I  have  none  to  offer.     Folly  is  the  malady  of  youth. 

Major.  Fur  which  experience  is  the  only  doctor. 

Lady  C.  A  doctor  whom  we  generally  call  in  too  late. 

Sir  PM.  Lady  Camilla  speaks  bitterly. 

Major.  For  one  so  young,  and,  pardon  me,  so  happy. 

Lady  C.  [Seriously,  then  with  sudden  change  of  manner.]  Young!  happy! 
[Gaily,  and  takes  Major  Lumley's  arm.]  Ah  !  Major  it  is  sometimes 
the  greatest  of  errors  to  reckon  life  by  years  ;  or  happiness  by  smiles. 

[Music. 

The  company  move  vp  stage,  and  off,  it.  u.  e. — there  is  soft  music  as  from 
boats  on  uaier— front  of  stage  left  clear  as  Sloeberry  enters  R.  1  E.,  fol- 
lowed by  Dogbriar  carrying  a  target  and  some  ai-rows. 

Dog.  [r.]  Not  pick  up  things  which  you  see  lying  'mong  the 
grass!  Well,  I  am  surprised!  Why  you  don't  put  yourself  up  to 
be  better  nor  the  birds — do  you  ? 

Sloe,   [l.]  Is  it  honest,  father  ? 

Dog.  Is  it  what  ?  Go  away  !  [Reproachfully.]  I'm  ashamed  on  you 
— I  am — people  as  is  pitched  into  this  world  with  no  such  provision 
as  silver  spoons  is  obligated  to  borrow  some  one-else's— it's  needces- 
ity  and  its  natur. 

Sloe.  I'd  rather  work. 

Dog.  Don't  'rasperate  me  !  Work's  like  treacle,  too  much  of  it 
at  first  an'  you  detest  it  ever  arterwards.  [Seals  himself  on  fragment  of 
ruin,  R  takes  a  cold  fowl  out  of  his  pocket  and  begins  to  eat,  cutting  off  frag- 
ments with  clasp  knife.]  There's  one  thing  in  these  feet  sham-peters  as 
I  can't  abear.  It's  the  wittals — lots  o' hices,  jellies  and  such  like 
nastyness,  which  aiD't  at  all  to  my  goot.  If  I  were  a  sham- peter, 
[digs  fowl  with  knife]  or  any  other  peter,  and  'ad  chice  of  a  dish — it 
ud  be  hen  ins  and  rum.  The  one  clings  to  t'other,  and  the  flay- 
viour's  dee-licious.  [Looking  up,  he  sees  Sloebekry  who  is  leaning  against 
portion  of  wall,  L,,  her  face  hidden  in  her  luinds.]  There's  that  girl  again. 
[Rises  impatiently .]  She's  all  a  heart  like  a  summer  cabbage.  [Crosses  to 
Sloeberry — he  sliafces  her  roughly  but  kindly.]  Give  over;  you're  moping 
after  that  Maurice      I  know  you  are. 

Sloe.  I  can't  forget  him. 

Dog.  Yet  it's  more  nor  a  twelvemoonth  since  we've  lost  sight  of 
him — well  you  ain't  like  the  rest  o'  your  sect. 

Sloe.   [Sadly.]  He's  dead 

Dog  Then  what '6  the  use  o'  cryin'  ?  Crying'  wont  bring  folks 
out  o'  their  graves  or  it  wouldn't  be  so  much  in  fashion.  I've  lost 
a  father,  mother,  and  heaps  o'  brothers,  but,  bless  yer,  I  never  cried 
for  none  of  'em.     It's  true  I  don't  belong  to  the  female  specious. 


16  Camilla's  husband. 

As  for  Maurice,  I  did  hear  as  'ow  he  and  Hyacint'  had  gone  to  paint 
'mong  them  furrineers  as  lives  abroad,  but  it's  a  rummer  as  want's 
cobobberation.  Come,  cheer  up!  you've  laid  the  dust  pretty  well 
for  once.  Why  what's  that!  [He  strikes  an  attitude  of  interne  surprize 
as  his  eyes  rest  upon  a  light  lace  scarf  u-hich  has  been  forgotten  on  projection 
of  ruins,  l.]  A  something  more  left  for  the  birds — shameful !  [Crosses 
r.  and  twitches  it  dou>n.~\  It's  a  scurf. 

Sloe.   [Endeavoring  to  prevent  kim.~\  What  are  you  doing  ? 

Dog.  Doing !  'eaven  helps  them  as  'elps  themselves.  [Buttons 
pocket  ]  So  I  'elps  myself  to  what  I  can,  which  is  natur'  and  fee- 
losophy. 

Sloe.   [Imploringly .]  But,  father 

Dog.  Don't  rasperate  me.  There's  company  acomin'.  [Music — 
Lady  Camilla,  fyc,  &{.,  appearing  among  nmis  at  back,  it.  u.  E.] 
Some  on  'cm  are  young  an'  'andsome,  and  in  coorse  want's  their 
fortins  told.  Give  the  best  o'  fortius  to  them  as  pays  the  best.  The 
lines  in  a  hand  that  holds  the  money  can't  be  hard  lines  you  know. 
[He  gives  her  an  encouraging  push  as  site  moi>es  slowly  and  reluctantly  over 
to  Company,  l.  ,  then  himself  quickly  crossing  stage.]  I  wonder  what's  be- 
come of  Judy  ?  [Loolcs  off,  r.]  There  she  is,  lookin'  as  lively  as  a 
howl  on  a  stick.  [Exit,  R.  1  e. 

Lady  C.  [As  she  comes  down,  c]  The  oracle  is  a  blind  one — even  the 
past  is  as  great  a  mystery  to  her  as  the  future  is  to  us. 

Sloe.  [Who  has  started  at  first  sound  of  Lady  Camilla's  voice,  stands 
transfixed — aside.]  It  is  the  lady  of  the  inn. 

Sir  Phil.  [Indicating  Sloeberry.]  This  should  be  another  prophet- 
ess, whose  eyes  are  bright  enough  to  disturb  a  future,  even  though 
they  may  fail  to  read  one. 

Shrimp,   [l.  c]  A  delicious  little  witch,  really. 

Lady  O.  [a]  Come  hither,  pretty  one,  can  you  read  the  future  ? 

Sloe.   [Approaches  slowly,  l.]  I  can  hazard  a  guess. 

Lady  C.  [Smiles.]  We  most  of  us  do  that — come  nearer,  and  I  will 
cross  your  hand  with  gold,  but  my  future  must  prove  a  happy  one. 

Sloe.  Gold  does  not  always  purchase  happiness,  lady.  [She  draws 
back  a  little  as  Lady  Camilla  extends  her  haud.]  If  I  read  the  riddle  it 
must  be  for  your  ear  alone. 

Lady  C  [Laughs.]  As  you  will.  [To  company.]  Retire  for  a  moment, 
I  entreat  of  you,  [All  retire  up.]  my  seer,  at  least,  understands  one 
secret  of  her  trade,  and  clothes  herself  in  mystery. 

Sloe.  [Aside.]  I  cannot  be  mistaken  in  the  voice. 

Lady  C.  [Who  has  come  down  stage,  r.,  again  extends  hatid.]  Read, 
child,  and  read  quickly. 

Sloe.  [Takes  her  hand.]  The  past  ? 

Lady  C.  [Good  humoredly.]  As  you  will — but  first — [gives piece  of 
money.] 

She.  A  hand  full  of  mystery  ! 

Lady  C.  Unravel  it. 

Sloe.   [Traces  line  with  finger.] 

This  line,  if  well  followed,  should  good  fortune  bring  ; 
It  crosses  a  church  porch — yet  I  see  no  ring. 


Camilla's  husband.  17 

She  touches  significantly  the  marriage  finger,  and  at  the  same  moment  raisce 
her  eyes  to  Lady  Camilla. 

Lady  C.   [Snatches  away  hand.]  Insolent !   [Crosses  to  l.] 
Sloe,   [&.]  The  thorn  it  is  felt — let  it  rankle  and  smart 

In  hand  that  has  wed  without  thought  of  the  heart. 

She  tosses  the  piece  of  money  at  the  fat  o/Lady  Camilla,  and  exits  R.  1  E. — 
The  company  come  down  and  surround  Lady  Camilla,  and  laughing  at 
the  same  moment — Major  Lumley  and  Sir  Thomas  Kendal  also,  descend 
stage. 

Major  L.  and  Sir  Thos.   [Speaking  together.]  The  Yachts  !  the  yachts  ! 
Sir  Thos.  [l.]  We  only  await  Lady  Camilla  to  give  the  signal  for 
the  start. 
Major  L.  [r.,  to  Lady  Camilla.]  May  I  claim  your  promise? 

Lady  Camilla,  who  has  made  a  movement  as  to  detain  Sloeberry,  hat 
recovered  by  a  powerful,  yet  to  the  audience  perceptible,  effort,  her  compo- 
sure— she  speaks  with  a  gaiety  that  is  forced,  yet  unnoticed  by  all  but  Sir 
Philip,  whose  eyes  never  quit  her. 

Lady  C.  I  entrust   myself  to  your  safe  keeping,  Major. 

[About  to  take  Major  Lumley's  arm,  when  Placida  interposes. 

Miss  P.  I  know  I  am  wrong  to  venture  an  opinion— I  feel  that 
persons  in  a  subordinate  position — 

Lady  C.   [With  some  impatience.]  Well,  Placida  ? 

Miss  P.  I  would  advise  the  regatta  be  postponed  for 

All.   [In protest.]  Oh! 

Miss  P.  [Points  to  a  thin  silvery  cloud  tliat  has  descended  upon  the  peak  of 
Skiddaw.]  I  was  born  ip  the  Lake  districts — and  that  cloud  betokens — 

Major.  Nothing  ;  but  that  old  Skiddaw  chooses  to  wear  a  night 
cap. 

Miss  P.  [With  cold  dignity.]  I  made  no  allusion  to  nightcaps  ;  and 
I  trust  no  allusion  will  be  made  to  anything  of  the  kind  in  my 
presence.  [Turns  up  stage. 

Lady  C.  I  will  not  be  frightened  from  my  jaunt.  Come,  Major. 
[Takes  Lumley's  arm,  and  moves  up  stage  ;  as  she  passes  Placida,  who 
stands  frigid  and  cold — a  statue  of  virgin  modesty — she  speaks  in  rapid  aside.] 
That  girl !  that  fortune  teller  !   seek  her. 

Miss  P.  [In  strong  astonishment.]  I ! 

Lady  C.  [Sume  tone  ]  I  must  see  her.  [7b  Major  Lumley — thorough 
change  of  manner.]  What  is  the  name  of  the  yacht,  Major  ? 

Major.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake !  But  from  this  day  it  will  bear 
another  title — the  Lady  Camilla  ! 

[They  go  up  stage  and  off  at  back,  r.  d.  e. 

Sir  Phil.  So  my  lady  cousin  will  not  yet  conquer  her  aversion  to 
me.  Ours  is  certainly  a  very  curious  family.  By  her  father's  will 
she  was  to  enter  into  possession  of  her  estates  on  attaining  her 
twenty-first  year — only — if  married.  My  father — her  guardian— 
naturally  anxious  that  the  property  should  not  go  out  of  the  family, 


IS  Camilla's  husband. 

destined  me  for  the  happy  man.  The  important  anniversary  arrived, 
so  did  the  bridegroom.  The  parson  was  ready,  but  the  bride  em- 
phatically said  "  No !  "  My  father  raged  like  a  tempest.  The  quar- 
rel was  a  fierce  one,  and  finished  by  Sir  James  locking  up  his  refrac- 
tory ward.  A  night's  reflection,  he  said,  would  put  another  aspect 
on  the  matter.  It  did  ;  for  when  the  cage  was  opened,  the  bird  had 
flown.  We  traced  her  to  a  village  some  thirty  miles  from  here — 
and  there  found— a  marriage  certificate  !  Who  can  the  husband  be  ? 
By  the  description  some  strolling  vagabond,  who  has  had  at  least 
the  grace  to  keep  out  of  the  way.  More  than  twelve  months  of 
anxious  search  on  my  part  has  failed  to  discover  his  whereabouts. 
No  wonder  that  Lady  Camilla's  pride  writhes  beneath  the  conscious- 
ness of  such  an  alliance.  Her  fear  that  this  marriage  should  become 
known  has  enabled  me  to  retain  the  management  of  her'estates — 
and  she  would  willingly  give  half  of  them  to  undo  the  folly  she  has 
done.  The  husband  once  found,  the  divorce  becomes  a  mere  ques- 
tion of  price,  and  I,  %ho  now  hold  a  mastery  through  her  fears, 
may  put  in  a  yet  stronger   claim  upon  her  gratitude. 

[Shrimpton  conies  down  stage,  c. 

Shrimp.  A  dance  !  a  dance  !  ladies  and  gentlemen,  during  her  ab- 
sence, the  queen  of  the  file  has  delegated  her  power  into  my  hands, 
[seizing  Sir  Philip,]  and  I  allow  no  desertion — choose  a  Dartner,  Sir 
Philip. 

Sir  Phil.  [Aside.']  Hang  the  fellow  !  [Aloud.]  My  choice  is  made. 
[Boioing  with  exagerated politeness.]  If  Miss  Placida 

Miss  P.  I  dance  ;  I  know  my  place.  Sir  Philip. 

Sir  Phil.  Then  let  us  take  it.  [As  they  move  up  stage.]  But  the 
yachts  ? 

Shrimp.  [  With  a  gesture  towards  lake.]  Are  no  longer  visible,  they 
have  rounded  the  point — Lumley's  first.  [Waving  hand  as  signal  to 
musicians  off  stage.]  The  remembrance  of  so  many  bright  eyes  and 
twinkling  feet  should  make  glad  the  heart  of  these  old  ruins  for 
years. 

A  dance — while  the  dance  continues  the  clouds  gather  gradually 
around  Skiddatc,  till  at  Inst  the  peak  is  entirely  hidden— a  flash 
of  lightning  darts  from  the  cap  of  the  cloud,  a  peal  of  thunder 
follows — the  Dancers  start  apart,  and  the  Ladies  utter  some 
cries  of  alarm  ;  but  Sir  Philip,  Captain  Shrimpton,  and  the 
Gentlemen  laugh  at  their  fears.  The  dance  proceeds,  the  mu- 
sic continues  its  exhilarating  strains,  while  ever  and  anon  breaks 
in  between  the  bars  the  diapason  of  the  distant  thunder — suddenly 
as  instinctively,  all  the  Dancers  huddle  in  groups,  the  music 
ceases,  a  black  veil  shuts  out  the  distant  scenery,  flash  after  flash 
of  lightning  succeed  each  other,  followed  by  peals  of  thunder — 
heavy  rains;  the  Ladies  are  flying  for  skelter  on  either  side, 
when  suddenly  a  shout  arises  from,  the  bach,  "  The  yachts  !  the 
yachts !" 


Camilla's  husband.  19 

Sir  Phil.  [it.  at  back — he  is  standing  on  a  huge  fragment  of  ruin,  and 
points  out  on  dvrturbed  surface  of  lake. ~]   Lurnley's  boat  is  on  the  rocks. 

Shrimp.  Sht;'s  off  again. 

Sir  Phil.  No,  the  wind  catches  her.   [There  is  a  low  murmur  of  alarm. 
They're  in  the  water.    [Placida  and  other  Ladies  rushing  up  stage.] 
Lady  Camilla  !  Lady  Camilla  ! 

Sir  Phil.  [Who  springs  to  higher  part  of  ruins.']  A  man  leaps  into  the 
water !   He  has  reached  her  !   bravely  done — she  is  safe  ! 

Here  follows  a  shout  as  of  great  relief — Sir  Philip  springs  down 
from  his  elevation  as  the  crowd  separate,  and  gives  passage  to 
Maurice  Warner,  icho  carries  in  his  arms  Lady  Camilla  in- 
sensible—he  is  followed  by  Hvasinth  Jonquil,  who  has  on.  his 
back  an  ortisi's  knapsack  and  sketching  apparatus,  and  another 
knapsack,  that  of  Maurics  in  his  hand — the  appearance  both  of 
Maurice  and  Hyacinth  Jonquil  is  greatly  changed  from  first 
act — Maurice  has  a  higher,  nobler  look — both  wear  short  beard 
and  moustache,  Jonquil  red  or  sandy,  and  with  eloth  blouse, 
belt  and  cap  have  the  appearance  of  poor  foreign  students — Pla- 
cida, Lady  Rosetille,  fyc,  take  charge  of  Lady  Camilla, 
whom  they  put  in  a  reclining  position,  r.  2  e.,  and  give  restora- 
tives, chafing  hands  and  temples — Maurice  stands  in  c.  of  stoge, 
his  eyes  rivited  as  by  fascination  upon  the  pale  face  o/Lady  Ca- 
milla— Sloeberry  entering  quickly,  r.  1  e.,  is  crossing  up 
stage  when  her  eyes  fall  upon  Warner. 

Sloe.  Maurice  !   [She  checks  herself,  as  xoith  a  quick  movement  of  recogni 
lion  Maurice  raises  his  finger  to  his  lips. 
Sloe.    [Aside.]  Returned  at  last. 

Jonquil  draws  her  a  little  aside,  as  Sir  Philip  crosses  to  Maurice — Exit 
Jonquil  and  Sloeberry  into  ruins,  r.  1  e. 

Sir  Phil.  How  can  we  sufficiently  reward  the  service  you  have 
rendered  ? 

Mau.  By  forgetting  it.    [He  is  turning  away. 

Sir  Phil.  Pardon  me  ;  but — [hesitates — then  with  a  glance  at  Maurice's 
dress] — you  are  poor ! 

Mau.  [Quickly.]  Pardon  me — my  friend  and  I  are  rich.  [Noticing 
Sir  Philip's  incredulous  stare.]  That  is,  we  have  enough  for  our  wants, 
and  neither  beg  nor  borrow  from  our  neighbors.  [Turns  abruptly 
away,  and  disappears  in  crowd  after  Hyacinth  and  Sloeberry,  r.  2  e. 

Ladi/  C.   [Rising  slowly.]  Where  is  he  ? 

LadyR.    Who? 

Lady  C.    My  brave  preserver. 

Sir  P.  Gone,  cousin  ! 

Lady  C.  And  unrewarded  !  such  bravery  deserves  a  liberal  recom 
pense.  [to  Placida.]   You  saw  him  ? 

Mas  P.  No  ;  in  my  fright  I  had  eyes  for  no  face  but  your  own. 


20  Camilla's  husband. 

Lady  C.  [Pressing  her hand.]  My  good  Placida  !  [to  Sir  Philip.]  Find 
him,  Philip,  and  bring  him  to  the  ball — he  will  not  at  least  refuse 
my  thanks. 

Sir  Philip  boivs  and  offers  the  support  of  his  arm  to  his  cousin ;  they  go  up  and 
off  stage,  which  becomes  gradually  clear,  l.  u.  e.  The  veil  that  has 
shrouded  mountain  has  been  lifting  since  Maurice's  entrance  with  Lady  G. 
Maurice  re-enters,  r.  2  e.,  with  Jonquil — hepcutses  in  centre  of  stage, 
and  gazes  after  retreating  figures,  then  with  a  hurried  movement  of  the  hand 
to  forehead,  and  a  sigh,  as  of  deep  pain,  he  turns  to  Jonquil. 

Mau.  [l.]  Am  I  waking — or  is  this  but  a  repetition  of  the  ever- 
haunting  dream? 

Jon.   [r.]  Dream  ? 

Mau.  What  other  name  for  that  which  has  no  waking  life — no 
substance — nothing  that  even  the  mind  can  grasp— a  vision  of  beauty 
more  fleeting  than  the  passing  cloud,  whose  shadow  only  rests  upon 
the  earth. 

Jon.  [Sadly.]  You  recognized  her  at  once  ? 

Mau.    Recognized— is  her's  a  face  to  be  forgotten  ? 

Jon.  A  strange  chance  our  coming  here. 

Mau.  It  is  such  chances  that  shape  the  destinies  of  men.  Our 
feet  have  scarcely  again  touched  English  ground,  when — Bah  !  why 
waste  thought  upon  a  vision,  no  sooner  seen  than  it  is  gone — like 
yonder  vapory  veil,  that  is  rolling  so  swiftly  away  from  the  crest 
of  Skkldaw.  [He  snatches  up  knapsack.]  Come,  Hyacinth  ;  our  way 
lies  back  again  to  London. 

Jon.  All  ways  are  alike  to  me— as  long  as  we  journey  together. 

Mau.  To  London  then  !  at  least  we  may  there  find  fame,  for- 
tune  

Jon.  [Gaily.]  And  happiness.  See,  the  clouda  are  gone !  [He 
points  to  the  mountains,  on  which  the  sunbeams  are  again  beginning  to  glitter.] 
Accept  the  omen — Come  !  [He  grasps  Maurice's  liand,  and  they  art 
moving  to  side,  R.  1  e.,  when  Dogbriar  appears,  R.  1  e.,  his  arms  loaded 
with  empty  champagne  bottles.  Sec;  as  he  enters  lie  comes  full  face  with  Mau- 
rice, and  starts  back,  letting  fall  his  load  in  great  surprise. 

Dog  Maurice  !  !  Why  I  took  yer  for  a  couple  o'  ghosts,  that  I 
did.  Ouf !  you've  given  me  quite  a  flirtation  o'  the  heart.  [He 
crosses  to  Jonquil,  while  Maurice,  as  one  lost  in  a  reverie,  has  fallen  a  little 
back  leaning  against  pillar  and  looking  off  stage,  upstage,  l. — r.  to  Jonquil.] 
Where  'ave  you  been  ? 

Jon.   [Laughs.]  Travelling. 

Hog.  Ah,  it's  a  great  thing  to  travel,  as  my  old  father  used  to  say; 
an'  he  used  to  do  his  thirty  mile  a  day  reg'  lar,  [aside]  on  the  tread- 
mill.  [Aloud.]  What  'ave  you  been  up  to  abroad  ? 

Jun.  Picking  up  all  sorts  of  things. 

Hog.   [Quickly.]  Walables,  I  'ope  ? 

Jon.   [Laugh'.]  I  hope  so. 

Hog.  'Cos  idleness  isn't  good  for  nobody,  it's  like  rust  to  a  kniie, 
it  spiles  the  polish,  an'  takes  off  the  sharpness  of  the  blade.  So  my 
father  used  to  say,  and  he  was  a  feelosopher.  * 


Camilla's  iiusband.  21 

Jon.   [Fastening  ttrap  of  hiapsack.]  Did  he  make  money  ? 

Dog.  He  died  in  the  work' us.  He  used  to  call  it  the  'ouse  'o  peers, 
becos,  says  he,  you've  nothink  else  to  do  but  sit  quiet,  and  be  fed 
by  the  nation.  It  was  a  'appy  end.  [Picking  up  bottle.]  Now  for  the 
refugees.  [Crosses  to  l.  ,  he  is  chasing  a  bottle  which  rolls  before  him,  when 
his  gaze  is  suddenly  attracted  by  something  that  lies  upon  the  ground,  close  to 
where  Lady  Camilla  has  been  reclining.]  'Art  alive  !  it's  a  ring  [Snatch- 
ing it  up.]  On'y  to  think  'o  the  carelessness  'o  some  people.  [He  is 
about  to  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  when  Maurice'  6  hand  is  laid  upon  his 
shoulder. 

Mau.  [it  ]  Dogbriar,  that  ring  must  be  returned  to  its  owner. 

Dog.  [a]  Owner  !  I'm  its  owner. 

Mau.   [Firmly.]  Give  it  me. 

Dog.  Give  it  you  !  You're  jokin'  !  Dimunds  isn't  dew  drops, 
and  ain't  to  be  found  on  every  blade  o'  grass. 

Mau.  I  will  have  it.  [They  struggle  for  a  moment.  Maurice  wrests  the 
ring  from  Dogbriar,  and  throws  him  back  some  paces  just  as  Surimpton, 
enters  l. 

Shrimp.  [To  Maurice]  I  am  requested  to  bring  you  to  the  hall. 
Lady  Camilla  Hailstone  would  see  and  thank  her  preserver. 

Mau.  [Aside  to  Jonquil  ]  Why  should  I  struggle  against  fate.  The 
wish  is  her's,  not  mine.  [Gently  putting  aside  Jonquil's  hand  as  the  latter 
endeavors  to  detain  him,  he  advances  towards  Surimpton  slightly  raising  cap.] 
At  your  service,  sir,  I  will  see  this  lady. 

Enter  Servant,  l. 

Ser.  Lady  Camilla  Hailstone  has  lost  a  valuable  ring,  which 

Dog.  [  With  savage  energy.]  A  dimund  !  He  stole  it.  [Pointing  to 
Maurice — indignant  movement  on  part  of  Jonquil,  which  Maurice  re- 
presses.— Tableau  close  in. 

SCENE  II. 
First  grooves — A     Wooded  Lane.      View  of  lake,  and  Skiddaw  also  seen 

through  trees.     A  portion  of  Hailstone  Hall,  very  picturesque.     A  rough- 
looking  tent,  painted  under  tree,  L. 
Judy  comes  on  l.  hurriedly,  followed  by  Sloeberry.     The  former  is  speak- 
ing testily  as  she  enters. 

Judy.^  Returned  !  of  course  he's  returned  ;  some  folk  are  like  the 
roomatiz,  they  never  leaves  you  for  long — Is  he  comin'  to  see  me? 

Sloe.  I  don't  know. 

Judy.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  didn't— he's  like  his  father— who 
had  more  pride  than  pence  ;  Gentleman  Warner,  we  used  to  call  him 
in  the  theayter — his  hand  was  ever  in  his  pocket  for  some  one,  so 
he'd  soon  none  left  for  himself. 

Sloe.  And  Maurice's  mother? 

Judy.  Poorcreetur!  she  wur  one  o'  your 'of  ouse  plants  ;  natur', 
in  the  rough  state,  wur  too  much  for  her  ;  she  never  liked  our  life, 
and  our  life  didn't  like  her. 

Sloe.  She  should  have  left  it. 

Judy.  So  she  did— she  died !  'Twas  the  first  chance  she  had,  an' 
6he  took  it. 


22  Camilla's  husband. 

Sloe.  And  Maurice.     Did  she  make  no  provision  for  him  ? 

Judy.  [Setting  herself  at  side  ]  In  course  she  did.  Just  afore  she  died 
she  called  me  to  her  bedside — "  Mis.  McCann,"  says  she,  for  she'd 
real  quality  manners,  and  always  gave  the  name  complete — "Mrs. 
McCann,  there's  Maurice  !"  "I  see  him  and  I  hear  him,"  says  I,  for 
he  was  crying  like  mad.  "Will  you  an'  Mr.  Jonquil  purtect  him  !" 
says  she.  I  pulled  up  a  moment  fore  answering  ;  when,  with  her 
lips  all  of  a  tremble,  she  ketches  at  my  hand.  "  You  won't  !  then 
heaven  help  my  unfort'nit  child,  for  he's  no  friend  on  earth!" 
'Twas  then  old  Jupiter  Jonquil,  who'd  been  listenin  all  the  time, 
broke  in — "I'll  never  desert  Maurice  !"  says  he — "  he  shall  have  a 
bit  of  my  crust  while  I've  got  it ;  and  as  for  eddication,  I'll  make  a 
painter  of  him." 

DOQBRIAR,  who   has  entered,  L.  I.E. 

Dog.  Edication.  Maurice's  edication  !  It's  arum  un — to  let  such 
a  chance  as  we  had  just  now  slip  through  his  fingers.  My  parients 
never  taught  me  sicii  conduct. 

Sloe.  What  chance  ? 

Dog.  It's  no  odds,  but  I'll  be  even  with  him.  [Crossing  c.  to  Judy.] 
I  s'pose  you've  bin  tellin'  little  Sloe  some  of  your  secrets. 

Judy,   [r.,  gruffly.']  You  suppose  wrong  as  usual. 

Dog,  All  the  better — a  secret's  like  a  shirt ;  when  you  ain't  used 
to  it,  it  only  worrits  yer  and  makes  yer  feel  uncomfortable.  [To  Ju- 
dy.] But  why  don't  you  go  on  wi'  your  discoorsin  ?  There's  no  one 
goin'  to  lay  an  inflammation  agin  you. 

Judy.  I  was  tellin'  her  what  Jupiter  Jonquil  said  when 

Dog.  I  heeid  yer.  And  what  did  the  poor  creature  reply  ? 

Judy.  Nothing.  Her  voice  had  gone — but  you  should  have  seen 
the  look  she  gave  him. 

Dog.  Savage  ? 

Judy.  A  look  that  said,  Bless  yer  !  plainer  than  lips  could  speak. 
Then,  when  he  was  gone,  she  put  one  of  her  thin  hands  under  her 
pillar,  and  gave  me 

Dog.   [Eagerly.]  What? 

Judy.  [As  recollecting  herself '.]  It  wasn't  money,  and  so  it  ain't  got 
no  interest  for  you.  [Crosses  to  L.;  she  takes  pipe  from  pocket  and  turns 
away  muttering  and  mumbling  as  she  fills  it,  while  Dog  briar,  who  has  come 
close  to  her,  speaks  in  his  most  insinuating  manner — Sloebkrry  a  little  up 
stage,  listens  eagerly. 

Dog.  Was  it  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  momentum  ? 

Judy.  What's  that? 

Dog,  A  something  to  remember  her  by. 

Judy.  She  twined  some  of  her  beautiful  hair  round  the  infant's 
neck — that's  all. 

Dog.  [With  much  disgust.]  Hair!  what's  the  good  o' hair  ?  Every- 
body  has  hair  ;  I  see  no  use  in  a  momentum  like  that. 

Judy.   She  did'nt  leave  no  other — so  that  point  's  settled. 

Dog.  Is  it  ?  Well,  you  won't  die  of  to  much  govillity.  [Taking  bot- 
defrom  his pocket—drinlcs,  and  hands  it  to  Judy.]     Squench  your  feelins. 


Camilla's  husband.  28 

Judy.  I'll  take  a  sip.  [She  drinks,  tilllo'DoonvLiATi'a  horror, the  bottle  as- 
sumes a  perpendicular  position,  as  though  she  were  balancing  it  on  her  nose.] 

Dog.  [  Whose  face  has  sunk  from  fear  to  despair.]  Sip.  [Taking  bottle. 
You  haven't  lost  your  powers  o'  suction.  You've  gone  into  the  bu- 
siness in  the  wholesale  line.  [Holdiug  empty  bottle  to  light.]  Great  re- 
duction made  in  takin'  a  quantity.  [Putting  it  in  pocket.]  Sloe,  have 
you  got  such  a  thing  as  a  comb  about  yer  ?  Thank' ee  ;  now  I'll 
just  borrow  a  wusp  o'  straw  from  the  rick  yonder,  and  go  down  to 
the  pond  at  the  bottom  o'  the  lane. 

Judy.  What  for  ? 

Dog.   [With  dignity.]  To  make  my  twy -light. 

Judy.   [Contemptuously.]    Why' re  making  a  dandy  o'  yourself  ? 

Dog.  I'm  goiu'  up  to  the  'all.  I've  an  account  to  settle  with 
Mister  Maurice  Warner.  Sarve  out  to  others  the  same  allowance 
they  sarves  out  to  you — that's  my  fee-losophy.  [He  crosses  stage  to  m., 
when  Sloeberry  catches  him  by  the  arm — she  is  greatly  agitated.] 

Slo.  Maurice  ! — Maurice  !  at  the  hall !  Why  has  he  gone  there  ? 
Oh,  tell  me ! 

Dog.   [r.  ,  in  much  surprise  at  her  excitement.]  Because  he  was  sent  for 

Slo.  By  her  ? 

Dog.  Her ! — who  ? 

Slo.  His  wife? 
Sh*  covers  her  face  with  her  hands — Dogbriar  starts  back,  open-mouthed, 
while  Judy,  as  moved  by  a  steel  spring,  rises  to  her  feet — Judy,  r. 

Both.  Wife! 

Dog.  [Recovering  himself  with  a  prolonged  whistle]  Phew!  here's  a  ket- 
tle o'  fish  !  [moving  quickly  to  side]  and  I'll  be  in  at  the  cookin'  !  [push- 
es her  roughly  aside,  and  exits,  r  1  e.,  followed  slowly  by  Judy  and  Sloe- 
berry,  the  head  of  latter  sunk  on  Judy's  shoulder,  R.  1  E. 

SCENE  m. 
Hailstone  Hall.     Glass  doors  opening  out  upon  lawn,  doors  l.  and  R. — Pic- 
turesque view   of  lake;  in  extreme  distance.,  Skiddaw — Lady   Camilla 
Hailstone  reclining  on  couch  down  stage,   R. — change  of  costume  and 
arrangement  of  hair — Sir  Philip  stands  near  foot  of  couch,  one  hand  resting 
upon  small  table,  in  the  other  he  holds  some  papers  and  a  parchment.] 

Sir  Phil.   [  With  irritation,  l.  c]   You  refuse  to  sign  these  papers  ? 
Lady  0.   [Calmly.]  1  refuse. 

Sir  P.  [Struggling  to  repress  temper.]  May  I  ask  your  reasons  ? 
Lady  C.  [Rising  slightly  into  a  half  sitting  posture,  and  fixing  her  eyes 
steadily  upon  Sir  Philip's  angry  face.]  You  shall  hear  them  :  by  sign- 
ing these  papers,  which  Mr.  Fussel,  your  agent,  has  drawn  up,  I 
give  that  gentleman  an  undue  authority  over  a  large  portion  of  my 
estates. 

Sir  Phil.  [I  begin  to  understand — you  would  assume  the  entire 
authority. 

Lady  C.   [Rising  to  her  feet.]  Assume!     Have  I  not  the  right  ? 
Sir  Phil.  [When  you  have  found  a  husband  ! 
Camilla  is  silent — Sir   Philip  continues  to  speak  ;    he  leans  over  hack  of 
chair — his  expression-  that  of  mockery  and  triumph. 


24  Camilla's  husband. 

Sir  Phil.  That  husband  exists — granted.  Find  him — why  not? 
Proclaim  him  !  [M jvemerU  on  t/teparl  of  Lady  Camilla  J  The  hushand 
of  Lady  Camilla  has  only  to  be  known  for  fashion  to  throw  wide 
open  her  doors,  and  society  to  prostrate  at  his  feet ! 

Lady  O.  [  With  much  dignity.']  Forbear,  sir  !  To  possess  a  power  and 
misuse  it  is  worse  than  cruelty — it  is  cowardice  ! 

Sir  Phil.   [C.'iange  of  manner.]  Pardon  me  !     My  excuse 

Lady  G.  I  dispense  with.  [Moving  a  Utile  down  sLige.]  Our  interview 
is  at  an  end. 

Sir  Phil.  [Hesitates,  themnth  an  impassioned  gesture.]  Camilla!  Cousin! 
[Turns  away  as  Sir  Philip  comes  down  stage.]  Have  I  not  kept  your 
secret  ? 

Lady  0.  [Turning  upon  him  with  cold  disdain  ]  For  such  silence  have 
I  not  paid  the  price  ?  The  discovery  of  the  secret  would — I  own  it 
— bow  my  head  to  the  very  earth  with  shame ;  but  it  would  also 
leave  you  a  beggar.  [Movement  on  part  of  Sir  Philip.]  Nay,  I  must  not 
be  choice  of  phrase.     It  is  time  the  mask  should  fall. 

Sir  Phil.  But  fall  for  us  alone.  [Sarcastically.]  It  is  the  world's 
verdict  that  you  dread — the  world's  opinion  that  you  fear. 

Lady  G.  And  if  I  answer  yes  to  that  ?  Is  there  one  among  us, 
woman  or  man,  who  does  not  live  in  daily — in  hourly  fear  of  this 
world's  Argus  eyes  and  deadly  tongue.  What  is  this  society  of 
which  we  talk  so  much  ?  A  despot,  whose  smile  is  fame,  whose 
frown  is  death  ?  We  would  shroud  ourselves  in  mystery,  but  the 
blank  walls  have  a  hundred  ears,  a  hundred  crevices,  through  which 
a  hundred  eyes  peep  in.  The  world  is  ever  about  us — all  we  do — 
all  we  say, — nay,  almost  all  we  think  is  noted  down  by  a  myriad  of 
unseen  spies — a  book  compiled  by  Jealousy  and  revised  by  malice, 
then  passed  from  hand  to  hand  and  published  by  our  friends  ;  such, 
Philip,  is  the  world  of  which  we  form  a  part. 

Sir  Phil.   [Anxiously.]   Would  you  brave  it,  cousin  ? 

Lady  G  [After  a  pause.]  No  ;  I  will  not  seek  to  conceal  the  misery 
— the  shame — that  my  headstrong  folly  has  brought  upon  me. 

Sir  Phil.  ^Camilla !  Camilla  !  there  is  yet  hope.  Confide  in  my 
love,  and [he  endeavors  to  lake  her  hand — she  draws  quickly  back. 

Lady  G.  Your  love  ! 

Sir  Phil.  [  With  increasing  fervor.]  Must  I  ever  repeat  that  I  love 
you  !  fondly !  madly  !  that 

Lady  C.  [  With  dignity.]  Silence  !  sir,  I  command  your  silence  !  I 
have  a  husband— you  at  least  know  that. 

Sir  P.  [Quickly  and  eagerly  watching  her  face]  Suppose  I  prove  that 
husband  dead  ? 

Lady  C.  Dead! 

Sir  Phil.  I  can  !  I  will !  [The  door  r.  t«  thrown  suddenly  open,  and 
Maurice  Warner  enters,  preceded  by  Servant. 

Servant.  [Coming  a  little  down  stage.]  The  person  Lady  Camilla  de- 
sired to  see.  [Lady  Camilla,  much  agitated  by  Sir  Philip's  words,  bows 
slightly,  but  does  not  immediately  turn  her  head— exit  Servant. 

Sir  P.  [Going  up  stage,  with  assumed  gaiety.]  I  leave  you  for  a  mo- 
ment, cousin,  we  will  speak  again  upon  this  matter  when  this  gen- 
tleman [he  bows  to  MauriceJ  has  departed.  [Exit  l.  door. 

Lady  G.  [u,  by  an  effort,  conquering  hor  emotion.]  You  muet  pardon 


Camilla's   husband.  25 

me,  sir,  if  I  have  been  somewhat  tardy  in  my  thanks,  but — [She 
turns,  and  sees  Maurice,  ruho  stands  up  stage— pile  and  motionless — fixed  as 
a  stdue  With  a  cry  of  mingled  surprise  and  fear,  Lady  Camilla  starts 
back,  and  lews  for  support  against  couch. 

Mau.  [in.]  It  jS  at  your  request,  madam,  I  am  here. 

Lady  C.   [S/ie  speaks  u-ith  difficulty .]  I  was  not  aware— 

Mau.  [Bitterly.]  To  whom  your  message  was  addressed,  or  donbless, 
gratitude  would  have  given  way  to  prudence,  and  the  service  been 
forgotten  in  seeking  to  forget  the  man. 

LadyC.  Sir!  I— 

Miu.  You  have  no  cause  for  alarm,  madam.  I  come  to  return 
you  the  ring.  [Crossing  to  table  on  ichich  he  places  ring.]  My  promise  was 
that,  save  at  your  request,  you  should  not  look  upon  my  face  again. 
At  that  request  I  now  stand  here.  [Coming  a  little  down  stage.]  I  read 
my  welcome  in  that  quivering  lip,  in  those  averted  eyes,  and  bow 
before  your  wish,  though  not  expressed  in  words.  [Going  to  door,  B.  3 
E.]  Farewell. 

Lady  C.  [Faintly.]  Stay  !  oh  ?  stay  !  [Maurice  pauses  by  door,  his 
hand  ujxm  lock.]  You  must  not  leave  me  thus  !  I  would — [she hesitates.] 
And  yet  I  dare  not  speak  of  reward  to  you. 

Mau.  [Indignantly .]  Reward!  [  With  sudden  change  of  lone  and  manner, 
he  comes  down  stage.]  And  yet  there  is  one  reward  tnat  I  would  dare 
to  claim,  a  reward  so  vast  to  me,  so  slight  to  you  that  to  grant  it 
would  be  a  charity  beyond  my  poor  desert,  while  to  refuse  it  would 
be  a  cruelty  of  which  even  your  cold  heart  should  bo  incapable. 

L'tdy  C.   [After  a  pause.]  Name  it. 

Mau.  Let  me  stand  thus,  and  gaze  upon  your  beauty,  and  while 
with  greedy  ears  I  drink  in  the  music  of  your  voice,  give  fresh  color 
to  that  unfading  image  which  you  have  stamped  upon  my  heart. 

Lady  C.   [Draicing  back  with  hauteur.]  This  is  madness  ! 

Mau,  Believe  it  so  !  and,  in  the  passing  visions  of  his  fancy,  per- 
mit the  madman  to  forget  his  chain. 

Lady  C.   [Coldly.]  You  must  forget. 

Mau.  Ah  !  if  you  did  but  know  how  I  have  sought  forgetfulness — 
sought  it  in  the  wild  debauch,  in  the  dull  oblivion  of  the  brain,  till 
fired  with  a  higher,  nobler  resolve,  I  cast  aside  the  brutish  husk, 
and  out  of  the  very  inspiration  of  my  dream,  took  a  more  human 
shape.  Born  I  know  not  where,  living  I  know  not  how,  I  cursed 
the  partial  fortune  which  had  condemned  me  to  such  a  fate  :  unlov- 
ing and  unloved,  despising  all  around,  incredulous  of  all  beyond,  I 
was  content  to  end  as  I'd  begun.  You  came,  a  passing  sunbeam 
shot  across  the  thickening  gloom.  An  idler  no  longer,  I  faced  with 
desperate  energy  the  stern  realities  of  a  poor  man's  life,  and  in  the 
presence  of  unceasing  toil,  again  sought,  but  sought  in  vain,  forget- 
fulness of  you. 

Lady  C.  [  Whose  cold  hauteur  increases,  as  in  the  energy  of  his  speech  he 
has  approached  nearer  and  nearer  to  her.]  What  is  the  claim  you  would 
urge  ?  for  by  this  strange  preface  I  must  fear — 

3fau.  [Sadly.]  I  have  said,  fear  nothing,  madam — nothing  at  least 
from  me.  Between  this  and  our  first  meeting,  more  than  twelve 
long  months  have  passed — happy  months  to  you. 

Lady  C.  [With  Anger.]  Have  you  forgotten,   sir,  the  pledge  you 


26  Camilla's  husband. 

have  given  me  ?  must  I  remind  you  that  I  am  naught  to  you  as  you 
must  ever  be  naught  to  me.  I  will  not  discuss  with  you  the  cruel 
persecution  that  drove  a  wild,  wilful,  and  unprotected  girl  to  an  act 
which — [her  voice  is  broken  with  irrepressible  emotion.]  Sufficient,  that  in 
atonement  for  tne  folly  of  an  hour,  I  shall  offer  the  repentanoeof  a  life 

Mau.  Persecution  !  who 

Lady  C.  [Drawing  herself  proudly  up.]  I  will  never  answer  ques- 
tions ;  my  wrongs  such  as  they  are,  I  best  know  how  to  right.  I 
am  ignorant,  whether  it  is  accident  or  design  which  led  you  to  this 
place.  [Movement  on  part  of  Maurice.]  Your  power  to  harm  is  great; 
at  present  you  have  only  used  your  power  to  save.  I  owe  my  life 
to  you.     Place  your  own  value  on  the  gift,  it  shall  be  paid. 

Mau.  The  wealth  of  a  world  could  not  reach  it.  [She  is  again 
drawing  haughtily  back,  when  advancing,  he  seizes  her  hand.]  This  meeting 
was  of  your  seeking — by  your  invitation  I  am  here. 

Jjady  C.  Release  me,  sir,  I 

Mau.  [With  firmness.]  Nay!  This  is  our  last  meeting.  For  once, 
and  for  once  only,  I  will  use  the  authority  of  a  husband. 

Lady  C.   Husband!    [She  sinks  into  chair,  L., — covering  face  with  hands.] 

Mau.  Your  husband,  cruel  woman — yes,  your  husband  !  From 
the  hour  we  met  at  the  wayside  inn,  when  you  scarcely  allowed 
your  scornful  eyes  to  rest  on  one  whom  yet  you  stooped  to  use  as 
the  degraded  instrument  for  some  unknown  end — from  that  hour 
I  loved  you  !  [Lady  Camilla  half  rises  from  chair — he  firmly  but  gently 
detains  her.]  I  marked  your  averted  eyes — your  disdainful  lip,  and 
the  bright  flush  that  crimsoned  your  cheek  when  first  you  touched 
my  hand.  I  saw,  and  saw  with  bitter  shame,  the  money  cast  at  my 
feet.  I  knew  you  could  never  be  mine  ;  but.  in  the  indignation  of 
my  heart,  I  registered  a  vow  that  you  should  never  be  another's. 

Lady  C.   [Rising.]  Alas  !  the  evil  I  have  done  ! 

Mau.  [Stilt  retaining  her  hand — sinks  at  her  feet.]  A  minute — one  little 
minute  more,  and  I  take  my  shadow  from  the  brightness  of  your 
life.  Do  not  hide  your  face — I  would  gaze  for  the  last  time  on  its 
proud  beauty,  and  drink  in,  once  more,  the  poison  of  your  glance. 
[Her  face  is  still  averted — he  releases  her  hand,  and  rises  to  his  fed,  j  Have 
you  no  word  ?— not  one  !  Dumb — frozen — nothing  living  in  the 
heart  ?  [He  turns  to  go  upxstage,  when  Lady  Camilla  turns  with  a  gesture 
of  entreaty. 

Lady  C.  You  will  not  leave  me  thus— you  shall  not !  Mauricb 
pauses  a  little  up  stage,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face,  which  exhibits  a  strong 
emotion.]  You  must  not  deem  me  entirely  without  excuse  for  what 
I  did.  Oh,  think,  sir,  a  woman  without  a  friend — woman  did  I  say  ? 
— a  child — a  self-willed  wayward  child,  left  suddenly  without  de- 
fense amongst  those  who  recognised  no  other  tie  but  that  of  s'elfish 

gain  !     Persecuted — cruelly    persecuted,   and  a  prisoner  ;   I — I 

[Her  voice  sinks  into  plaintive  tenderness.]  Alas!  I  lacked  the  clasp  of  a 
mother's  arms — the  safeguard  of  a  mother's  heart  ;  what  marvel, 
sir,  if  I  paused  not  to  enquire  the  wisdom  of  the  means,  so  that  I 
broke  for  ever  an  intolerable  chain  ? 

Mau.  [Sadly.]  I  am  not  here  to  reproach  ;  nor  have  you  now  or 
ever,  aught  to  fear  from  me.  The  promise  I  gave  I  will  keep  ! — 
[inoving  up  stage  till  lie  stands  at  table]   and  standing  in  this  house  that 


Camilla's  husband.  27 

might  be  mine,  of  all  its  rich  contents,  I  claim  but  this.    [Taking  mi~ 

niature  from  table.] 

Lady  C.  My  portrait ! 

Mau.    I  have  a  man's  heart,  but  I  have  also  a  man's  honor,  and 

depart  friendless— penniless — owner  of  estates  that  I  disdain  to  claim. 

Music,  piano — he  has  crossed  stage  to  door,  R.  1  e.  ,  there  he  pauses  and  gazes 
proudly  but  sadly  upon  Lady  Camilla,  who  overcome  by  conflicting  emo- 
tions, leans  for  support   against  clmir. 
Mau.  Farewell  forever  ! 

She  sinks  into  chair  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  at  the  same  moment  Sir 
Philip  and  Dogbriar  appear  at  back  from  the  lawn — the  latter  pointing 
exuUingly  to  Maurice  Warner,  who,  without  perceiving  them  has  made  a 
step  forward  as  about  to  rush  to  Lady  Camilla — he  checks  himself  as  by 
a  powerful  effort — presses  the  portrait  to  his  lips,  and  exits. 

ACT  III— SCENE  I. 

Room  in  the  House  of  Sir  Phil.  Hailstone,  [1st  grooves] .  Park  Lane,  Lon- 
don, doors  R.  and  l.     French  windows  at  back — three  half  length  portraits 

arranged  so  as  to  form  a  prominent  feature  in  the  scene.     The  centre  portrait 

is,  however,  hidden  in  part  by  the  window  curtain      Furniture  modern  and 

tasteful.     This   scene  must  depend  more  upon  the  painter' s  brush  than  the 

upholsterer,  requiring  a  quick  change.      Sir   Philip  is  leaning  against  one 

of  the  windows,  R. 

Sir  Phil.  A  blow !  A  blow  given  by  the  hand  of  Maurice  War- 
ner, that  lowborn,  strolling  vagabond,  who  has  contrived  by  the 
tricks  of  trade  to  push  himself  into  the  company  of  his  betters. — 
He  has  made  a  great  reputation  certainly — a  great  name  !  he  has 
brought  a  blight  and  scandal  upon  mine.  He  is  the  one  obstacle 
between  me  and  fortune,  and  this  day  shall  remove  it ! 
Enter  Servant,  l  ,  announcing  Major  Lumley.  Enter  Major  Lumley,  l. 
Servant    retires. 

Sir  Phil.   [Advancing  upon  him  eagerly.]  You  have  seen  him  ? 

Lumley.  I  have  ;  our  interview  was  a  short  one,  all  mention  of 
apology  was  at  once  discarded. 

Sir  Phil.  Good  !  and  his  weapons  ? 

Lumley.  He  left  the  choice  to  me.     I  chose  swords. 

Sir  Phil.  [Striking  his  hands  together  with  fierce  delight.]  It  is  to  rush 
upon  his  fate  !  he's  mad,  he  must  be  mad  ! 

Lumley.  [Coldly,  and  as  much  shocked  by  Sir  Philip's  manner.]  I  never 
6aw  a  man  more  cool. 

fiftr  Phil.   [  With  some  anxiety.]  Did  he  allude  to  the  cause  of  quarrel  ? 

Lumley.  Not  a  word.  [Enter  Servant,  l. 

Ser.  A  man  desires  to  speak  to  you,  sir. 

Sir  Phil.   [Testily.]  A  man — what  man  ? 

Ser.  His  name,  he  says,  is  Dogbriar. 

Sir  Phil.  Dogbriar! 

Ser.  He  has  come  a  long  way,  and  he  says  his  business  is  important. 

Sir  Phil.  Show  him  in  here.  I  will  return  in  a  few  minutes.  [He 
it  crossing  to  Lumley,  but  again  turns  to  Servant.  Give  him  some  re- 
freshment, and  remain  with  him  till  I  come.         [Servant  exits,  l. 

Sir  Phil.  Come  Lumley,  luncheon  waits.  [They  exeunt  r.  as  Servant 
re-enters  l.,  followed  by  Dogbriar.  The  latter  halls  in  the  doorway,  pull- 
ing forelock,  and  scraping  with  leg. 


28  Camilla's  husband. 

Servant.  {Sharply. ~\  Come  in.     Sir  Philip  will  be  with  you  directly. 
Dog.    [Advancing  leisurely. .]  That's   werry  kind    on  him,  but  I  say, 
young  man,  if  he  has  anything  like  a  dook  or  a  markis  with  him, 
don't  let  him  hurry  'em  away  on  my  accout. 
Servant.  You're  a  rum  'un. 

Dog  Am  I?  Well,  I  ain't  one  of  your  specious  anyhow.  [To  the 
servant's  uell-bred  horror,  he  begins  to  whistle  in  a  reflective  way  as  he  scats 
himself  on  extreme  edge  of  chair,  placing  his  hat  beneath  it.]  Since  you  are  so 
pressin' ,  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  [Pointing  to  bottle  on  table.]  Thaiik'ee.  Takes 
glass  of  wine  which  servant  offers,  tastes  it  and  makes  a  face.]  What's  this  ? 
Servant.  Claret,  don't  you  like  it? 

Dog.   [Setting  down  glass.]  Not  at  present,  [with  another  grimace.]  I  say, 
young  feller,  I'm  afeard  you've  been  robbin'  the  cruets.     It  may  be 
werry  good  over  a  letuce,  but  when  I  wants  my  teeth  filed,   I  goes  to 
a  dentist,  [pointing  to  table.]    What's  that? 
Servant.  0 — dee — dee. 

Dog.  Co'ney  Hatch  !     I'll  take  a  little.    [As  Servant  pours  spirits 
into  glass.]    I  always  delude  it  with  water,  [empties  glass. 
Ser.  You're  a  temperate  one,  you  are. 

Dog.  It's  a  family  failin  !    [Taking  up  bottle  and  refilling  glass, 
Ser.  What  are  you  about  ? 

Dog.   [Severely]  Always  finish  what  you  begin,  young  man,  it's   mo 
— rality  and  it's  fee— losophy. 

Enter  Sir  Philip,  r. 
Ser.  Here's  Sir  Philip,  [Crossing  quickly  at  back  to  L.] 
Dog.  [Rising  quickly  and  putting  bottle  into  pocket.]  And  so  there  is. 
Servant  exits  l.  at  a  sign  from  Sir  Philip,  xcho,  advancing  directs  upon 
Dogbriar  a  keen,  searching  glance.  That  gentleman' s  eyes,  however,  are  bent 
modestly  upon  the  ground — he  twirls  his  hat  in  hands,  and  looks  the  picture  of 
unruffled  innocence. 

Sir  Phil.   [After  a  pause.]    Your  news? 
Dog.   [Apologetically.]    None  in  particular— not  at  present. 
Sir  Phil.   [Angrily.]    That  has  been  your   reply  for  this  many  a 
month,  during  which  I've  paid  }'ou — and  paid  you  well.    [Dogbriar 
sighs  heavily.]    You  promised  to  find  out  all  about  this  fellow,  yet,  ex- 
cepting where  he  was  born — 

Dog.  In  Jupiter  Jonquil's  the — ay — ter. 
Sir  Phil.    And  that  he  was  nursed  by  your  wife  ? 
Dog.  Who  was  also  connected  with  the  boards.    [Aside.]   She  used 
to  scrub  'em. 

Sir  Phil.  I  have  learnt  nothing.     You  say  his  mother  was  a  lady  ? 
Dog.  Nothing  less,  bonnet,  silk  gownd,  and  weddin'  ring,  complete. 
Sir  Phil.   [  With  a  contemptuous  impatience.]  And  the  father  was  a  gen- 
tleman, I  suppose? 

Dog.  I  ain't  come  across  many  speciments  of  the  harticle,  but  I 
seen  some  as  look  it  less. 

Sir  Phil.   [Haughtily.]    What  do  you  mean,  fellow? 

Dog.  Well,  I  never  says  eggzactly  what  I  means  or  what  I  wants. 

[Sir  Philip  turns  away,  and  paces  room  impatiently.]    I  let  folks  guess 

the  one,  [emptying  quickly  glass  on  table,]  and  'elps  myself  to  the  other. 

Sir  Phil.   [Again  halting  before  him.]    You  were  to  bring  your  wife. 

Where  is  she  ? 


CAMILLA' 9    HUSBAND.  29 

Dog.  Gone.  Just  as  I  begun  to  draw  her  out  on  the  •whole  bisnesi, 
she  took  a  perplexity  fit,  and  went  hoff  like  the  snuff  of  a  candle. 

Sir  Fhil.  Dead! 

Dog.  Nipped  in  her  bud.     [Taking  out  handkerchief  as  about  to  weep. 

Sir  Phil.  Poor  follow  ! 

Dog.  Yes,  we  all  has  our  trials. 

Sir  Phil.  Did  she  leave  nothing  ? 

Dog.  She  left  a  momentum,  as  is  usual,  a  portrut — a  minetur. 

Sir  Phil.  Of  herself!  [Carelessly. 

Dog.  I  should  rayther  think  not ;  her  feeturs  weren't  of  that  sort 
which  requires  momeutums.    It  was  a  picture  of  Maurice's  father. 

Sir  Phil.  Indeed  !  come,  we  may  get  some  clue  here.  [Aside.]  That 
may  lower  my  lady  cousin's  pride  still  more. 

Dog.  ^[Feeling  in  pockets.]  "  Give  it  to  Maurice,"  says  she,  "  I  prom- 
ised his  mother  that  I'd  keep  it  for  him."  "An'  you've  kep'  it  a 
precious  long  time,"  says  I.     "I   never  know'd  what  might  turn 

up"  says  she,  quite  brisk,  "  I  was  always  a  careful  woman,  and " 

[He  pauses  a?id  shakes  hood. 

Sir  Phil.  Why  don't  you  go  on  ? 

Dog.  Becos,  at  that  werry  iuterestin'-pint  of  her  story,  Judy  went 
off.  She  took  the  fit,  and  the  fit  took  her.  She  were  always  a  agra- 
wating  woman  and  acted  up  to  the  karacter. 

Sir  Phil.  [Talcing  miniature,  which  Dogbiuar  1ms  drawn  from  his  pocket.] 
Give  it  to  me. 

Dog.  [Contemptuously.]  'Taint  worth  much — the  case  is  on'y  wash- 
ed, and  as  thin  as  a  wafer. — hopens  with  a  spring. 

Sir  Phil.  We  will  see  what  this  strolling  gentleman  is  like.  [As  he 
moves  up  skige  to  window,  Dogbriar  seizes  the  opportunity  to  draw  bottle  from 
pocket,  and  is  in  the  act  of  raising  it  to  his  lips,  when  his  eyes  rest  upon  the  half 
length  portrait  on  the  wall,  which,  owing  to  a  movement  of  Sir  Philip's 
against  wi/uloiu  curtains,  is  for  the  first  time  fully  exposed.  The  bottle  drops 
from  Dogbriar's  hands;  he  utters  a  cry  of  intense  astonishment  and  points  to  the 
portrait  on  wall. 

Dog.  Heart  alive  !    but  it  can't  be  ! 

Sir.  Phil.  [In  much  .surprise  and  moving  from  window.]  What  can't  be  ? 

Dog.  [Still  pointing.]  But  it  is  !  it's  him  !  that  poi trait ! 

Sir  Phil.  [Angrily.]  Him  !  Is  the  man  mad  ?  lhat  is  the  portrait 
of  George  Hailstone,  my  uncle. 

Dog.    lour  uncle  ? 

Sir  Phil.  Who,  marrying  against  his  father's  will,  was  disinherited 
and  died  an  outcast  and  a  beggar. 

Dog.  [By  a  quick  movement,  opening  the  spring  of  minature.]  Look  ! 

Sir  Phil.  My  uncle  George  !  impossible  ! 

Dog.  [  With  wild  exultation.]  Not  a  bit  of  it !  see — [examining  case  of 
minature] — here's  a  court  of  armsandamotter — the  same  as  I  seed  on 
the  cheers  below — Judy  always  said  that  Gentleman  Warner  would 
turn  up  trumps  at  last.  [He  is  performing  a  kind  of  triumphal  dance,  when 
Sir  Philip,  as  one  awakening  from  a  lethargy  of  astonishment,  places  his  hand 
on  Dogbriar's  shoulder. 

Sir  Phil.  Give  me  the  minature — I  must  be  satisfied. 

Dog.  [Shaking  off  hand,  and  with  lightning  quickness  thrusting  portrait  into 
his  pocket.]  And  so  must  I. 


30  CAMILLA  S    HUSBAND. 

Sir  Phil.  How,  fellow  !  of  what  do  you  suspect  me  ?. 
Dog.  [WAose  mannci  is  now  full  of  sly  reserve.]   When  I  ain't  sure  of  a 
thing  I  always  suspect  the  wust — it's  fee  losoph'y. 
Sir  Phil.  You  refuse  to  give  me  that  miniature  ? 
Dog.  Give ! 

Sir  Phil.  [Impatiently.]  Sell  then  ? 

Dog.  That's  another  pair  o'  shoes — why  you  don't  think  I'd  go  an' 
rob  a  poor  import' nit  orphan  for  uothin.  [Crosses  to  r. 

Sir  Phil.  Your  price  ? 

Dog.  [Quietly.  Will  depend  upon  the  market.   [He  is  moving  towards 
the  door  when  Sir  Philip,  stepping  between  him  and  door,  again   motions   as 
about  to  put  his  hand  upon  shoulder. 
Sir  Phil.    You  rascal  ! 

Dog.  [Starting  back,  his  face  and  attitude  changing  from  its  former  oily 
slyness,  into  one  of  lowering  menace]  None  o'  that!  'Rasperate  me  an' 
I'll  show  you  a  trick  or  two.  [Buttoning  Ids  coat  determinedly  ]  I'm  come 
of  a  porkypine  breed,  and  hurts  when  roughly  handled.  [Taking  c.  of 
stage.]  Look'ee  here,  Sir  Philip  ;  let's  play  cards  on  the  table  ;  they 
ain't  werry  clean  one's  on  either  side,  but  the  color  o'  the  pasteboard 
won't  take  off  from  the  skilt  o'  the  game.  You  hired  me  to  find  out 
all  about  Maurice,  that  is,  all  that  was  bad  about  him,  becos,  thinks 
you,  it's  easier  to  pint  out  a  smut  on  a  chap's  face  than  for  him  to 
wipe  it  off.  But  things  have  taken  quite  another  aspic',  an'  unless  I 
see  powerful — wery  powerful  reasons  to  the  contrary,  the  minitur'  of 
the  father  will  find  its  way  into  the  hands  of  the  son. 

Sir.  Phil.  [Who forces  an  appearance  of  indifference.]  And  you  think 
this  wild  story  will  be  believed  ? 

Dog.  There  are  plenty  o'  people  who  know  Gentleman  Warner 
and  his  wife,  and  with  such  a  clue  as  this — [slapping  pocket,  which  con- 
tains minudure] — the  scent  won't  be  hard  to  foller. 

[Servant' enters  with  card,  l. 
Sir.  Philp.  [Looking  at  card.]    Captain   Shrimpton — show  him   into 
the  library.   [Servant  exits  l.  d  ;  Sir  Philip  turns  and  surveys  Dogbri- 
ar,  who  is  seemingly  lost  in  admiration  of  himself  before  mirror. 

Sir  Phil.   [Aside.]  A  few  hours  and  this  new  discovery  may  have  no 
power  to  harm — this  duel  will  decide  all.     [He   approaches   Dogbriar 
and  speaks  with  a  hearty  bonhomie,]  Dogbriar  !   |  Dogbriar  turns  briskly] — 
upon  reflection,  the  picture  may  as  well  be  in  your  hands  as  mine. 
Dog.    [Drily.]  Quite  as  well. 

Sir  Phil.  1  have  little  doubt  we  shall  come  to  such  terms  as  will  pre- 
vent this  double  disgrace  from  falling  on  my  family;  I  have  pressing 
business  with  some  visitors, which,  however, will  not  detain  me  long. 
[He  crosses  stage  to  r.  door.]  In  the  meantime — [oj.xms  door,  R.] — wait  in 
my  private  room  ;  eat,  drink  and  amuse  yourself  till  my  return. 

Dog.  Then  make  haste,  Sir  Philip — I  was  born  unde;  the  hedge 
like  the  wiolets,  an'  couldn't  breathe  'tween  four  stone  walls. 
Sir  Phil.  Ah  !  we  none  of  us  know  what's  in  store  foi  us. 
Dog.  [  Who  is  entering  room,  u., turns  and  darts  a  keen  glance  at  Sir  Phil- 
ip.] That's  very  true.  [Aside.]  But  it  isn't  me  as  will  go  to  the  wall. 
[Aloud,  and  with  meaning.]  Don't  'urry  yourself,  Sir  Philip — I  can  wait 
[He  passes  to  room,  r.,  his  face  wearing  a  puzzled,  doubtful  look — Silt  Philip 
closes  door,  turns  key  softly,  and  places  it  in  his  pocket. 


Camilla's   husband.  31 

Sir  Phil.  Safe  for  an  hour  or  two  at  least.  [Going  to  table  he  strikes 
on  bell.     Enter  Servant,  l.  d. 

Sir  Phil.  The  man  who  entered  just  now  is  there.  [Points  to  room.] 
The  door  is  locked,  the  key  in  my  pocket.  Let  no  one  have  speech 
with  him  till  my  return.  [Sir  Philip  crossing  stage  while  speaking, and 
matching  up  hat  and  gloves  exits  l.;  as  he  passes  out  he  raises,  hi*  clenched 
hand  and  speaks  aside.]  And  now  for  you  !  rival  !  enemy  and  cousin  ! 
[He  exits,  Servant  following,  lifting  t rug,  wine,  Sfc,  from  table,  follows  as 
Scene  opens  upon  a  grand  interior  of  artist' s  studio — statues  on  pedestals  and 
pictures  tastefully  arranged  on  easels,  Src — armor  a7id  arms  adorn  walls—fold- 
ing doors  at  back — doors  r.  1  and  3  entrances,  these  latter  covered  xoith  velvet 
curtains  which  run  on  rod — entire  effect,  half  drawing  room,  half  studio,  like 
tlie  fashional'le  Continental  ateliers.  Maurice  Warner,  r.  3  e.,  before 
easel,  painting — on  opposite  side  of  stage,  a  slightly  raised  dais  or  platform 
covered  with  crimson  or  green  baize,  l.,  upon  which  Sloeberry,  in  costume  of 
a  Spanish  girl,  is  standing,  tambourine  in  hand — at  her  feet  reclines  Hyacinth 
Jonquil  in  the  dress  of  a  Spanish  Matador,  holding  guitar — tlwy  form  tableau 
for  the  pictures  which  Maurice  is  painting,  r.  c. 

Mau.  Thank  you,  Hyacinth,  that  will  do. 

Jon.  [Springing  up,  crossing  stage,  R.,retfs  hands  on  Maurice's  shoulder 
and  examines  picture.]  Life,  color,  expression!  and,  above  all,  nature 
who  so  rarely  shows  her  honest  face  upon  the  canvas.  Ah  !  you're 
a  great  painter,  Maurice — a  giant !  and  I  but  a  dwarf  who  ever 
comes  halting  behind. 

Mau.   [Smiling.]  Your's  is  a  bark  that  sails  lightly  on  life's  stream. 

Jon.  [Laughing.]  With  Pleasure  at  the  prow,  and  Youth  at  the 
helm.  [Clapping  Maurice  gailg  on  the  shoulder.]  Men  so  rich  in  talent 
as  yourself  can  afford  to  throw  an  alms  to  the  poor.  [.4  Domestic  at 
livery  enters  r.  3  e.  ,  delivering  letter  to  Maurice,  and  exits. 

Mau.  [Glancing  carelessly  at  address.]  From  Linnet,  the  dealer.  [Toss- 
ing  letter  to  Jonquil.  Open  it,  Hyacinth  !  [Still  seated  in  chair,  his  man- 
ner that  of  one  laboring  tinder  a  profound  mental  dejection. 

Jon.  [Glancing  at  letter.]  As  usual  he  bids  for  your  picture  before 
finished. 

Sloe.  [  Who  descends  from  platform  and  now  stands  L.  1  E. ,  she  speaks 
mournfully  aside.]  It  is  she  who  buys — I  pierced  that  mystery  long 
ago.  [Maurice  still  seated,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  seems  in  a  reverie 
Jonquil  crosses  to  Sloeberry  who  has  moved  a  little  up  stage. 

Jon.  [Aside  to  Sloeberry.]  He'll  work  no  more  to-day.  He  has 
his  dark  fit  on  him. 

Sloe.   [Same  tone.]  Poor  Maurice. 

Jon.  Poor  Maurice  indeed  :  victim  alike  to  love  and  pride,  his  is  a 
disease  without  a  cure.  [As  Sloeberry  is  moving  away.]  To-morrow, 
Sloeberry,  at  the  same  hour  ! 

Sloe.  Of  course,  I  shall  bring  my  work  with  me.   [Going. 

Jon.   [Catching  her  hind.]  And  take  away  my  heart  with  you. 

Sloe.  Nonsense  !  [Withdrawing  hand.]  I  leave  that  behind  me  with 
the  other  rubbish  of  the  studio.  [Crosses  stage  and  exits,  r.  2   e. 

Jon.  [Aside.]  Now  I'm  in  earnest,  in  sober,  right  down,  sedous 
earnest,  yet  the  moment  I  mention  love  she  laughs,  and  if  I  speak 
of  marriage,  she  runs  away.  [Coming  down  stage  he  touches  Maurice 
lightly  on  shoulder.]  Maurice  !  [Maurice  looks  zip]  about  this  challenge  ? 


32  CAMILLA'S    HUSBAND. 

Mau.  [Calmly. ]  I  have  accepted  it. 

Jon.   [Mcvement  of  astonishment.']  Surely  some  arrangement. 

Mau.  None  is  possible — the  apology  demanded  I  refused,  [rising] 
we  fight  within  the  hour. 

Jon.  [Agitated.']  Reflect,  Maurice  ?  Sir  Philip  Hailstone  has  served 
abroad  ;  his  skill  with  every  kind  of  weapon,  is  notorious — and 

Mau.  I  have  no  fear. 

Jon.  Fear!  No,  but —  [Sloeberrv  re-enters  r.  3  e.  She  crosses  L. , 
and  remains  up  stage  unperceived. 

Mau.  [Interrupting  Jonquil.]  You  know  the  cruel  use  Sir  Philip  has 
made  of  the  knowledge  of  his  cousin's  secret,  at  the  clubs,  in  the 
salons,  no  matter  where,  this  man  is  ever  by  me,  with  covert  taunt 
and  coward  sneer,  at  my  beggar  origin,  or  as  he  terms  it,  gipsy  birth. 

Jon.   [Indignantly.]  And  you  bore  this,  Maurice? 

Mau.  I  bore  it,  with  rage  at  my  heart,  and  the  flush  of  shame  upon 
my  cheek,  I  bore  it  all,  and  all  for  her.  To  guard  her  name  from 
calumny  I  suffered  this  man's  insolence,  till  bold  from  impunity,  he 
dared  to  attack  the  son  by  reflections  on  the  mother,  to  sting  the 
husband  by  innuendoes,  as  base  as  they  were  false,  upon  the  wife. 

Jon.  And  you  ? 

Mau.  Before  the  sneer  had  faded  from  his  lips,  my  answer  was 
written  on  his  cheek.  [Points  to  clock.]  As  I  have  said  we  fight  within 
the  hour.  [Crossing  to  door,  R.  2.  e.]  Come,  there  is  but  scant  time 
to  prepare.  They  exunt  R.  2  e. 

Sloe.  Maurice  fight,  and  fight  for  her  !  [Looking  at  clock.]  She  alone 
can  prevent  this,  I  know  Maurice.  One  word,  one  look,  one  smile 
of  her's,  and  this  calm,  strong  man  is  as  a  child.  Her  house  is  but 
a  step  from  here,  I  will  fly  to  her,  and  say,  Lady  Camilla,  a  danger, 
a  great  danger,  threatens  Maurice  Warner.  I  implore,  I  entreat, 
[site  stops  and  laughs  bitterly]  small  need  of  entreaty  when  Love  and 
Fear  lend  wings.  'Twas  but  yesterday  I  saw  her  at  the  gallery  be- 
fore his  great  picture.  She  thought  herself  alone,  but  [her  voice 
sinks  into  a  despaii-ing  tendernessi]  I  was  there — watched  with  aching 
heart  the  slow  tears  creeping  down  her  cheeks.  [  With  energy.]  Tears, 
I  cannot  weep  like  her  but  I  would  die  for  him.  [She  goes  tip  stage 
and  exits  hurriedly  by  folding  doors,  c,  as  Maurice  and  Jonquil  re-enter, 
E.  2  e.,  both  in  walking  costume,  hats  and  gloves,  &fc,  in  hand. 

Mau.  [Speaking  as  he  enters,  resting  on  Jonquil's  shoulder.]  If  I  fall, 
tell  her  that  her  name  was  to  me  as  some  sacred  thing — tell  her  that 
I  loved  her  to  the  last. 

Jonquil.  [  With  forced  gaiety.]  Never  play  the  raven  to  your  own 
fortunes.  Maurice — the  dice  have  yet  to  be  thrown, 

Mau.  [Smiling.]  True ;  when  such  game  is  a  foot,  we  should  be 
first  in  the  field. 

Jon.   [All  is  prepared— a  moment,  and  I  am  with  you  !  Exit  R.  3  B. 

Mau.  [Crossing  to  the  veiled  picture  on  easel,  L.]  Yet  once  again,  and 
perhaps  for  the  last  time,  I  will  gaze  upon  that  loved  face.  [Drawing 
aside  the  curtain,  he  reveals  the  portrait  of  Camilla  -he  speaks  after  pause, 
during  which  he  attentively  regards  portrait.]  And  is  there  no  other  end  in 
life  but  love— no  higher  aim  than  winning  thee,  proud  woman  ?  [As 
he  speaks,  the  folding  doors  at  back  are  opened  noiselessly,  and  Lady  C.  appears 


Camilla's  husband.  S3 

on  threshhold,  C.     She  enters  hurriedly,  closing  doors  behind  her,  then  stands  B. 
without  moving,  contemplating  Maurice,  whdse  eyes  are  fixed  on  picture.] 

Mau.  [l.  c]  No  ;  there  is  no  life  without  thee—  none  !  the  voice 
©f  praise  sounds  idly  in  my  ears — for  thy  lips  are  silent !  'The  works 
of  my  hands,  the  creation  of  my  brain,  are  as  dead  things  to  me — 
for  thy  face  is  ever  there-*-between  me  and  the  canvas !  Alas  !  this, 
thy  pictured  image,  is  not  more  cold  to  me  than  thou  art.  [lie  drops 
curtain  and,  as  overcome  by  emotion,  covers  his  face  with  his  hands.  Lady 
C,  who  has  come  a  little  down  stage,  now  stands  r.  3  e.,  leaning  against  chair. 

Lady  C.   [Speaking  with  a  half  sob,  up  c]  Maurice  !  Maurice !    [War- 
■  ner   turns,    and  with  a  cry,  recoils  against  picture — his  hand  grasping  curtain 
— his  eyes  fixed  as  one  who  sees  a  spectre.} 

Mau.  Lady  Camilla ! 

Lady  C.  [Advancing  slowly.]  I  have  come,  Maurice  Warner,  to  hin- 
der an  act  of  folly,  and  to  prevent  the  commission  of  a  crime.  [Mau- 
rice's eyes  stilll  fixed  upon  her  in  a  doubting  amazement.']  I  know  all— the 
challenge  and  the  provocation — all.  The  cruel  insult — the  coward 
insult,  that  aroused  your  anger.  I  also  know  the  motive  which  has 
induced  my  cousin  to  seek  this  quarrel. 

Mau.   [Coldly  ]  May  I  ask  the  name  of  your  informant,  madam  ? 

Lady  C.  It  matters  not.  My  cousin  seeks  a  duel,  and  I,  throwing 
aside  reserve,  and  trampling  pride  beneath  my  feet,  am  here  to  pre- 
vent it — at  all  hazards  to  prevent  it — [with  a  quick,  impulsive  movement 
she  approaches  him] — Maurice  Warner,  you  must  avoid  this  meeting. 

Mau.   [With  same  marble  coldness.]    It  cannot  be  avoided. 

Lady  C.  You  do  not  know  Sir  Philip.  Bethink  you,  he  has  been 
a  soldier,  trained  to  arms,  and 

Mau.  [Smiling.]  Madam,  you  insult  me ! 

Lady  (J.  [  With  change  of  manner.]  1 !  Oh,  heaven !  If  you  but 
knew  Sir  Philip's  motive. 

Mau.  It  is  not  difficult  to  guess.     He  loves  you. 

Lady  C.  [Indignantly.]  Loves  me  !  Loves  me !  He  loves  my  for- 
tune, Maurice  Warner.  Half  that  fortune  will  be  his  on  your  death. 
Do  you  not  hear  ?  It  is  on  your  death  this  bad  man  builds  his  hopes. 

Mau.  And  in  that  death  lies  there  not  also  a  hope  for  you?  Re- 
flect !  between  you  and  happiness  stands  but  one  barrier—  [indicating, 
himself  by  gesture] — but  one  ! 

Lady  C.  [As  moved  by  a  sudden  resolve.]  Listen,  Maurice  Warner! 
[Movement  on  part  of  Maurice.]  Nay,  you  must  listen,  for  I  have  much 
to  say.  Four  years  have  passed — four  long  years  since  we  stood  thus 
face  to  face,  the  gloomy  past  casting  its  blighting  shadows  on  us 
both  ;  you,  and  you  alone,  gazed  into  the  future  with  unshrinking 
eyes,  and  saw  a  dawning  light  through  the  darkness.  [Maurice  is 
about  to  speak,  she  checks  him  by  an  imploring  gesture,  and  continues  in  tones 
of  much  feeling.]  Months,  years  flew  by,  and,  desolate  and  alone,  I 
heard,  at  first  with  wonder,  and  then  almost  with  fear,  of  the  grow- 
ing greatness  of  your  name — this  by  the  public  mouth.  Then  came 
youT  friends— for  a  great  success  makes  many — and  I  heard  of  days 
of  toil  and  nights  of  study,  while  they  all,  unwitting  of  the  pain 
they  gave,  hinted  at  some  secret  sorrow  which  weighed  upon  your  heart 

Mau.  Is  sorrow  in  this  world,  so  rare  as  to  be  worthy  of  remark  ? 

Lady  C.  He  who  climbs  high,  challenges  remark  from  all ;  we  met 


34  Camilla's  husband. 

C 

in  Londo.i,  again  and  again  we  met,  as  strangers  in  that  vast  and 
ever  changing  crowd,  with  silent  lips  and  eyes  averted  we  passed 
each  other,  yet  the  flush  that  rose  upon  my  cheek  at  every  mention 
of  your  name,  was  one  of  pride,  of  honest  pride  in  you. 

Mau.  [Eagerly.]  Is  it  possible  ?  [  With  rapid  change  of  manner.']  You 
mock  me,  madam  ? 

Lady  C  I  have  said  T  am  here  to  avert  a  danger — a  great  one. 
This  meeting  must  not  take  place. 

Mau.  [Coldly.]  My  honor  is  engaged.  I — what  would  you  have  me 
do?  Society  has  its  laws;  it  is  but  justice  to 

Lady  C  [With  scornful  energy.]  Law  !  justice!  what  words  when  the 
act  you  would  commit  outrages  both.  [Crosses  to  l. 

Mau.  What  I  have  not  sought  I  shall  not  shrink  from — life  has  not 
so  many  gifts  to  offer  that  I  should  swerve  from  the  path  I  have  chosen 
— even  by  a  step.  To  be  in  love  with  life  one  link  is  wanting. 

Lady  C.  And  that. 

Mau.  The  blessed  link  which  binds  two  human  hearts.  [His  voice 
sinks,  as  overcome  with  emotion,  which  he  in  vain  endeavors  to  restrain;  he  is 
turning  away  when  Lady  C,  u>ho  by  a  quick  movement,  has  placed  herself  by 
his  side,  lays  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

Lady  C.  Live  !  Maurice  !  live  for  me  !  [He  turns,  gazes  on  her  with  a 
startled,  wild  expression,  full  of  wonder  and  incredulity .]  For  me — [her  hand 
still  resting  on  hit  arm] — how  shall  I  speak  to  you  ?  Alas !  I  have  yet  to 
learn  the  words  that  will  soonest  reach  your  heart — I  know  not  what 
to  say — what  plea  to  urge  !  I  can  only  kneel  and  weep.  [Is  about  to 
kneel,  when  Maurice  catches  her  in  his  arms,  but  suddenly  draws  back,  though 
still  holding  her  ;  gazes  with  wild  earnestness  into  her  face. 

Mau.  This  is  the  very  mockery  of  my  dream  !  [Averting  his  face.] 
There  is  a  fascination  in  your  gaze — a  magic  in  your  voice — I  dare 
not  listen ! 

Lady  C.  [She  detains  hint  as  he  is  about  to  move  up  stage.]  Do  not  leave 
me — have  I  not  also  some  claim  to  pity  ?  I  entreat— nay  I  implore — 
at  your  feet— you  will  stay  ! 

Mau.  [As  one  who  by  an  overpowering  effort  of  will  shakes  off  a  spell.]  No  ! 
[He  breaks  from  her.]  You  have  robbed  me  of  my  heait !  You  shall 
not  rob  me  of  my  honor  !  [Moves  as  to  go  up  stage,  but  suddenly  rising  to 
her  feet,  Lady  Camilla  flies  past  him,,  and  her  back  against  folding  doors, 
her  arms  extended  across  them,  she  bars  his  way,  her  face  and  action  expressive 
of  Iier  old  imperious  energy.] 

Lady  C.  You  shall  not  pass  !  you  shall  not !  What  is  the  madness 
you  would  do  !  to  risk  all  your  happiness  and  mine  in  a  foolish  brawl, 
and  in  this  desperate  game  to  stake  two  lives. 

Mau.  Two  lives  ! 

Lady  C.  Mine  ! — mine  is  hound  up  in  yours.  This  is  no  time  either 
for  reserve  or  pride  ;  I  tear  aside  the  veil,  and  lay  my  heart  wide  open 
to  you.  I,  alas  !  I  know  not  what  to  say.  [Her  voice  suddenly  sinks 
into  one  of  plaintive  tenderness.]  I  love  you  !  [Shecomes  down  stage  a  few  paces 
— pauses,  overcome  by  emotion,  and  covers  her  face  ivith  her  hands.] 

Mau.   [With  a  cry.]  You  love  me  ! 

Lady  C.  [She  looks  upprowlli/  and  speaks  in  a  voice  full  and  firm.]  Yes,  I 
love  you  !  [Coming  doivn  stage.]  You  will  not  meet  this  man  ?  What 
I  begged  as  the  woman,  I  claim  as  the  wife. 


Camilla's  husband.  35 

Mau.  As  you  will — ever  as  you  will.  Honor,  wealth,  friends,  I 
cast  them  all  aside — a  word — a  glance  of  yours,  and  each  settled  pur- 
pose of  my  soul,  as  I  would  grasp  it,  melts  like  a  snow  flake  in  my 
coward  hands.  Well  let  them  go  ;  in  this  cold  world,  a  little  love  is 
worth  them  all. 

Lady  C.  [  With  joy  and  glancing  at  clock.]  Thank  heaven  !  the  hour  is 
past.  [Goes  up,  l.,  the  door  R.  2e.,  opens  and  J onquil  enters  quickly,  with- 
out perceiving  Lady  Camilla,  who  is  a  little  up  stage.  As  Jonquil  crosses 
to  Maurice,  she  glides  behind  statue,  l.  ,  uhere  site  remains  concealed,  but  visi- 
ble to  the  audience. 

Jon.  [Down  r.,  speaking  as  he  enters.]  Quick  !  Maurice  ;  we  haven't 
a  moment  to  lose. 

Mau.  [Rising  hastily,  glances  nervously  round,  then  approaches  Jonquil, 
speaking  with  a  feverish  quickness.]  I  have  reflected  this  appointment — I 
— I  shall  not  keep.   [Giving  letter.]  This  will  explain. 

Jon.  [Glancing  at  address.]  An  apology  !  [He  regards  Maurice  steadily 
in  the  face.]  An  apology,  and  to  him  ? 

Mau.  [Averting  his  face  for  a  moment,  crossing  to  r.]  Do  not  question 
me — at  least  not  now.    As  my  friend  you  will  act  for  me,  and  place 

that  in  the  hands  of [The  folding  doors,  C,  are  thrown  open,  and  the 

Servant  announces  Sir  Philip  Hailstone.  Sir  P.,  Capt.  Shrimpton, 
and  Major  Lumley  enter.  Two  former  remain  at  bick;  latter  comes  down  to 
where  Maurice  is  standing.  Jonquil  still  holding  letter  in  hi?  hand,  stands 
by  statute,  behind  which  Lady  C.  Iuis  disappeared.    She  not  visible  to  audience. 

Major,  [a]  Pardon  this  intrusion.  Mr.  Warner, your  non-appearance? 

Mau.  [With  strong  effort  at  sdf-control.]>imce  our  interview  this  morn- 
ing much  has  occurred  to  alter  my  intention — [with  strong  effort] — I 
am  prepared  to  apologize.  This  meeting  will  not  take  place, 

Sir  Philip,  with  an  angry  exclamation,  is  springing  forward,  l.,  but 
Shrimpton,  l.,  restrains  him. 

Mau.   [  With  hauteur.]  Sir,  I  tender  an  apology. 

Sir.  Phil.  [Fashing  Shrimpton  roughly  aside,  and  advancing.]  Which 
is  refused — [facing  Maurice] — vagabond  and  stroller. 

Major  and  Shrimp.  [Inleiposing .]  Sir  Philip  !     Gentlemen  ! 

Sir  Phil.  Gentlemen  !  [lie  laughs  scornfully.]  Is  it  that  you  include 
this  hedgeboru  fellow  in  the  category  ?  Enough — [as  they  again  inter- 
pose]— I  will  have  no  tardy  apology — the  insult  was  public — such  a 
mark  blood  alone  can  obliterate  !  [He  moves  to  go  up  stage.]  Follow  ! 
[Maurice  wlw  has  nutde  a  quick  movement  as  about  to  obey,  checks  himself— 
glances  ivildlg  arouud  room  as  seeking  some  one,  then  with  a  stifled  groan 
draws  himself  again  coldly  up. 

Mau.  I  cannot. 

Jon.  [Down  r.]  Maurice!  [There  is  a  general  movement  of  astonishment, 
and  Sib  Philip,  trembling  icith  passion,  again  places  himself  before  Wak- 
ner — good  contrast  here  between  the  high,  cold,  agonised  restraint  of  War- 
neb  and  the  hot  rage  of  Sib  Philip — they  occupy  centre  of  stage.'} 

Sir  Phil,  [a]  Coward!  It  shall  at  least  be  blow  for  blow.  [With 
a  movement  fierce  and  sudden,  Maubice  Wabneb  has  grasped  Sm  Phil- 
lip's upraised  arm,  and  before  it  can  descend,  hurls  him  violent! g  some 
paces  back— before  the  latter  can  renew  the  attack,  Lady  Camilla  stands 
between  them — her  face  is  very  pale,  but  high  and  proud— she  holds  in 
hand  Maurice's  letter,  which  she  has  snatched  from  Jonquil,  and  which 
she  now  tears  into  fragments.] 


36  Camilla's  husband. 

Lady  C.  Maurice  ?  Maurice  Warner  !  I  release  you  from  your  oath. 
[Pointing  to  Sir  Piiilip.]  FIGHT  THAT  MAN!  [  With  a  cry,  a  "  ru- 
gissement'"  of  joy,  W arnek  snatches  from  the  wall  a  pair  of  swords  and 
casts  one  at  the  feel  of  Sir  Philip,  who,  no  less  eager,  clutches  up  the  wea- 
pon, and  they  prepare  to  engage— a  great  noise  as  of  footsteps  and  sound 
of  voice*  heard  outside  door,  c.,  at  back,  at  which  a  knocking  continues.} 

Mau.  Keep  the  door.  Jonquil — let  no  one  enter. 

Major.  [Who  with  Shrimpton,  endeavors  to  interfere.']  Gentlemen,  I  en- 
treat you. 

Mau.  Back,  sir  !  We  have  had  enough  of  words.  To  Sir  Pfiilip.] 
On  your  guard.  [They  enyage.  The  seconds  draw  back.  Lady  Camilla 
stands,  the  torn  letter  in  her  hands  :  her  figure  erect — immoveable;  her 
eyes  rivetted  upon  the  crossing  of  the  swords.  Jonquil  at  back,  las  hands 
upon  the  lock  of  closed  doors,  at  which  the  knocking  slill  continues,  his 
figure  bent  eagerly  forward,  watching  the  combatants.  A  cry,  and  Sir 
Philip  staggers  back,  and  leans  as  for  support  on  Shrimpton,  l.  Crash 
heard,  xohen  sword  falls,  and  at  the  same  moment,  doors  at  back  are  burst 
open,  and  Sloeberry  and  Dogbriar  enter,  and  come  hastily  down  stage, 
us  Lady  Camilla  sinks,  xcith  a  low  sob,  as  of  a  great  relief,  into  the  arms 
of  Maurice  Warner.] 

Bog.  [To  Sir  Philip.]  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  Tours  was  a 
clever  trick,  Sir  Philip,  but  never  turn  the  key  of  a  door  till  you've 
seen  there's  a  bar  to  the  window — that's  my  fee-losophy. 

Sloe.  [Giving  miniature  to  Lady  Camilla.]  This  portrait,  madam, 
we  entrust  to  you 

Lady  C.   [Glancing  at  portrait.]   George  Hailstone  !   my  uncle. 

Dog.   [Crossing  to  centre.]   And  Maurice  Warner's  father. 

Mau.  [  Who  has  taken  portrait.]  My  father  !  Speak,  Sloeberry  !  Dog- 
berry !   explain. 

Dog.  Explain  ?  Why,  don't  it  explain  itself.  You  want  to  know 
who's  done'd  it  all— why  in  coorse  you  do,  that's  morality  and  phee- 
losophy.  Well,  it's  me.  Ah,  you  may  shake  your  head,  Sir  Philip, 
but  you  can't  aggravate  me.  J.  say  again,  it's  me.  I  aint  picked 
'oles  in  people's  saucepans  all  my  life,  without  a  seein'  one  in  their 
coats,  'specially  when  it's  big  enough  to  shove  your  'ed  through. 
I  done  it,  and  as  the  cove  used  to  say  at  Jonquil's  theatre,  "  Alone, 
I  done  it." 

Mau.   You  ? 

Dog.  Why,  in  coorse.  Besides  didn't  I  find  the  picture  ?  Didn't  I 
find  the  ring  ?  Didn't  I  find  the  scarf?  And  didn't  I  stick  to  em  all, 
and  ain't  virtue  its  own  reward  ?  Ugh  !  I  say  agin— alone  I  did  it — 
and  what  do  you  want  more. 

Lady  C.  [Staying  Dogbriar.]  Nothing,  Oh,  nothing  now  !  [Press- 
ing her  hand  on  bosom,  she  turns  to  Maurice.]  My  heart  has  no  room  for 
further  happiness — sufficient  that  you  are  Camilla's  Husband  !  [Her 
head  sinks  upon  his  breast,  as,  with  a  radiant  look,  she  faces  audience.] 

Sloeberry.        Major  and  Shrimpton. 
Sir  Philip. 
Jonquil  Maurice.    Camilla.  Doobriab. 

b.  L. 

THE  END. 


J 


NDER 

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